He sliced me up in a way that meant love.
He killed what was left hidden beneath my bed.
There are dried fruit baskets from lovers I've yet to scorn.
Suicide, let me take a break.
You've become singular in a plural world.
Of course the flowers dance when you wear that summer dress.
They can't take that from you;
Not on this night, under the summer unknown.
Golden rewards pull on my hair, like a submissive ex lover.
It took my favorite brooch, my mothers white brooch.
It was given to me before I was reborn again.
Suicide, let me take a break.