A pick and shovel.
Arms heavy.
Hands dirty.
I feel you at my feet,
Slowly creeping your way
Rough skin tightening,
Threatening.
Tranced and lured
By your dark green eyes,
I drank from your lips
With hunger and fervor.
One bite,
And I can feel it taking over
Toxins coursing inside
My death looming,
No matter how much I bleed out.
The hole gets deeper before me,
Darker as your arms embrace me,
Hands around my neck ,
Choking, suffocating,
While I delight in their touch.
A gradual, slow death
By choice.
Your whispers, sweet caresses
Say cruel goodbyes.
With a tug, you let go.
Immobile limbs,
Eyes shut,
I feel the earth pour over my body,
But no one will count this murder
A suicide.
-Noemi Garcia Rigsby
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