CW: suicidal thoughts

tommy ruminates over how he’s going to die

like he’s a six-year-old going to baskin robbins for the first time,

choosing between two scoops of caramel praline or a neapolitan banana split.

he hovers over the knife scabbard in my kitchen,

perusing bread and boning, but settles on butcher.

“do you have budget for a euthanasia roller coaster?

I’ve never been to an amusement park

and I’d really like to do that before kicking the bucket.”

there he was, hiding in plain sight,

the tragedy of him,

sandwiched between comedy.

he cuts himself a slice of cake,

the one I told him I powdered with anthrax,

and he looks proud of himself.

he plucks a maraschino cherry off the top.

after he ties the stem into a knot with his tongue,

I watch him chew a little too hard on the pit.