Dangling

I read about this too often on the news. =(

She stands on the edge of the kitchen counter

clicking her teeth to the tick of the clock,

a bag of bones with dynamites in her sock,

swallowing down tears that overwhelm her.

Minutes corrode and her legs stiffen pale,

wedging roots into the marble plank-tops,

a pebble of sweat on her jawline drops,

as the sound of her better judgment runs stale.

The roses in her eyes rust and wither

and crumble to flakes of willingness gone still,

a shadow on the curve of her overdose pill,

past the point of recognition in the mirror.

She strokes the silent snake wrapping her throat

and leaps with a sob to a space where she'll float.