suicide bodies go missing

the first time,
i went skydiving,
and deliberately never pulled the
red parachute cord
as i was falling,
the startling birds were migrating and
all i could think is how they made it splendid.

the second time,
i shot a bullet through my skull
in a classy designer-store.
later, i found they’d picked my pocket, and
paid for the damage
to the garments that my blood
and brains had splattered upon.

the third time,
i guzzled a new form of liquor
until i turned egg yolk.
motor oil’s all the same color when it’s mixed
with saliva
pouring down a clasped throat.

i hit the cement with a thunk,
but no one came running,
and that’s when i decided to get back up.

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