SUICIDE

How much more
pain could you have
shown us –
pins holding your
brain in place,
as your fingers
separated fact
from fiction.


He hung like a robe
on the back of the
bathroom door -
nonchalant and dead,
you liked to say.


You claim that you
died, too, that night.
Are you sure
you weren't born –
pushed out of the hard
cold womb of anguish?