one of those plastic ones that hold milk cartons.
His knees were locked,
and he firmly looked toward the heavens,
while the tears of 100 summers
fell from his face.
His eyes were closed
and his mouth was open,
and his wrists bled.
He said the pain on his arm made him forget
the pain in his heart;
and the blood from his veins covered
the scars on his soul.
He started counting from:
Ten
Nine
Eight
Seven
Six
Five
Four
Three
I ran into the room screaming:
"You don't want to do this you don't want to do this you don't want to do this you don't"
I shook his body back and forth
and back
and forth
and back
and
forth
and
back
and he laid in my arms limply
and I swallowed
and he cried
and I cried
And I took the rope from around his neck.
And we embraced.
We threw away our clothes:
Too much blood
Too many tears
Too many memories
