Editor’s note: this poem refers to suicide.
Going out to the bathroom in slippers in the morning, the usual routine.
The gas bill.
Keeping track of all the utility bills, and after that, we can stop by the neighborhood shop to buy some food, milk and peaches.
Everything else has become boring.
Inevitable, cruel.
The fall.
And your favorite penguin book series is tucked into the corner of the bag.
* * *
Suicide brings darkness
There is only utopia and disappointment in death — or perhaps an endless black silence. This is death in hell, where neither the devil sings to lure you away nor God calls you.
It is suicide, lying in the darkness.