Suicide Season

The air is balmy;

It’s heavy,

The way it sits

on the back on my neck.

The only reprieve is the

Scarce

Serene

Sunset breeze.

The dirt under my nails

Smells like sweet earth

Worms

& catfish slime.

I’m too young yet

To have my own musk,

But Momma says

I smell like wet dog.

My tackle box is

Splayed out on the grass,

Innards in disarray.

I’m packin up

After one more cast

Of my line.

Just beyond the tip of my pole,

The black barn sits on the horizon,

Backlit by a sky

Red as the blood

dried to my palm.

I’ve forgotten the sting;

It’s been a beautiful day.

The rough wood of the barn door

Scrapes my wound,

stinging,

As the smell of muck

& alfalfa

Follow the gentle creaking.

There he is,

On his knees,

In the darkness of the barn,

Under the blood red sky,

Just wishin’ he would die.

It’s late summer,

But I was

as frozen in that heat

As in the dead of winter.

Sweatin’;

Tellin’ daddy not to pull the trigger.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/8ipojn/mass_consumption/dyv584k/?context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/8irxhk/last_night_streets/dyv4o6i/?context=3