Clean Your Mess

It would be
simpler,
a sharpened blade
trailed down slender
wrist.

Easier
than this treacherous
game
called life.

There would be no
desire,
hope,
pain,
want,
failure.
Only absolution,
quiet.

It would be
simpler
a handful of pills,
some pink,
some blue,
maybe yellow,
just for fun.

Eyelids heavy,
promised rest,
a final resolution
that none can
question.

There would be no
anger,
hurt,
sadness,
love,
failure.
Only peace,
silence.

It would be
simpler,
a languid jump.
Gateway?
Too high.
Not worth the mess,
splattered on the concrete.

There would be no
glory,
anguish,
joy,
hate,
failure.
Only solitude,
retreat.

Broken bones,
twisted angles,
a shattered body to match
the insides.
No question that she’s
“in a better place.”

It would be
simpler,
had the umbilical cord wrapped
a little tighter,
born
a little bluer.
There wouldn’t be a mess
to clean up.

——————————-

Thanks for reading,

Victoria Elizabeth

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