City of Bridges

When he and I walked through mulch
he tripped and cut his knee and blood
poured out of him in big dark globs.
I was no more than six but I remember
wishing my blood came so easy, cause
when blood comes they are looking.

Now whenever I hold my life by the stem
of its glass like red wine and
tilt and tease to see for myself if
I’m willing to let it spill,
I run to a bridge.
I research and research
, keywords like
“how will it feel when my bones break and
how long will I be alive to feel it?”
And with those answers,
, keywords like
“taller bridge.”
Because I learned rather than say “help me”
I said “this is how I help myself.”

For anyone that had their body taken
you may have heard like I did
that suicide was taking it back.
I was wrong I was so wrong.

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