Suicide is contagious
I caught it several times
while it was lying dormant
in the tall grass
stripes of dark and lightness
lurking in the shadows
growling there unheard
behind the sneering lips
reeling from the ambush
crimson lines appearing
in the snow white skin
so pale and gasping
while my eyes grow dimmer
closing by the second
the last breath left hanging
off the clouds
incisors bared tightly
face thinly taut and pulled
into a grotesque mask
of smiling death
Besides writing poetry and short stories, Anntelope plays piano and guitar, composes songs (blues, jazz, country, rock and roll), and even paints a bit. Check out her web page, East Village Poetry.