suicide

Suicide

Sometimes I wish I was
like that young woman in
jeans, t-shirt, from an article

in a magazine, photo's
of her somewhere
in the United States,

walking towards the
border of
rest and speed,

of
living
and the other

dark impact, the slow splash,
concrete, her inside purple,
hardly making an impression

on the water where divers
will find the restless
expression on her mask

called suicide by jumping
off a steel bridge.
Sometimes I wish I had

the guts, but they say I
look like my mother; she
could never make up her

mind. But say, one day, I would
take the plunge, you'll see
that there will be no one

there with a decent camera.
And not a single magazine
would print it.