MEMENTO MORI

She sits sad
Holding her head like a book
Her hair locks drop silently
From behind her ears
Like tears
She contemplates suicide
Philosophically
Of what Woolf, Majaz, Plath did
Whatever they did with their life.

Suicide dear
Is not a question of philosophy
It's not even a question
It is the last act of poetic will
That erases the author
Leaving just art
It's the last punctuation
That turns the blank paper of life
Into poetry

The hair locks are imprisoned
Behind the asylum of ear
Tears fall free
Page dyes