tw: suicide

to drill another notch in this old belt,
i use the sharpest knife i can find
i point down and swivel and swivel
white knuckling, afraid of a slip and stab
when it pokes through, it is an ugly hole
it is not safe

but it keeps my pants up better
now i don't binge my hurt
and nicotine suppresses your appetite
but not my cravings for you
as you grip the belt and snap its center
the sting followed by a gentle caress
it is safe

my belts arch over a hanger in my closet
the buckles clink as i rummage through
to find something to impress strangers
these days i do not really think of the belt
as a weapon on myself
how it would feel around my neck
the red rising, neck bruising, mother's screams
it is dark

the connotations of the belt
as it touches my body
around my waist
my ass
my neck
to be all of these things
it is a terrific feat