My Suicide

A truck came, a truck
full of morphine. I had ordered

the truck to come. It came
and filled the yard, until

I was lavender, then
lead. This was before I became

a body trying to exit itself
through a stick. In the meantime,

my soul wandered into a corner
of the lobby, holding a sack

of popcorn. It was waiting to see
if its services would be further

required. If only I could have found
the right words, a friend told me

I would never have attempted it.
I nodded, but I didn't believe.