Passingly Suicidal

My name is Passingly Suicidal.
I never really want to
except when I'm staring into the ceiling
or the sky
or the bottle
at the end of another day
walking past a man trimming hedges
praying the shears would fall just so
land
in my shoulder, neck, chest, heart

dead.

My name is Passingly Suicidal
because I'm never really dead
just lifeless
hugging onto a hollow chunk of dead hair
and spellbound dresses
and too-tight bras
and lipstick spears
daggers of eyeliner and eyebrow pencils
jagged mirrors laughing.

My name is Passingly Suicidal
feeling like top shit for days
loud-voiced big-laughed all-jokes smile
Teeth like marble
voice like granite
Nails like razor blades hidden in skirt hems.
teeth between my thighs begging me
"let me bite a little harder"
"let me go a little higher"
"let me hurt a little more"

My name is Passingly Suicidal
because aren't we all?