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Love/Suicide

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You make me want to kill myself

she said

as she slammed the door.

This combination of noises

beat at my heart

like ritualistic drums.

I ran to the window

and split the blinds with

my fingertips and pushed my

oily face against the glass

to watch her walk away.

It was raining a dense,

heavy rain

that thrummed the top

of her head and slapped

her shoulders and

slicked her hair down her spine.

A bulging pack hung

from her shoulder

containing pants, shirts,

underwear, socks, and her

bras.

The vinyl bag caught

rivulets of the

heavy rain

and they danced downward

like a broken marionette.

When I couldn’t see

her anymore through the

heavy rain,

I cried to myself and

considered the correlation

between love and

suicide.

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