Nothing Like Declivity

I recall publishing this poem about suicide on Valentine’s Day a few years ago. There’s a charm in such childishness, I fancy, which is why I emplore you all to revisit it today, unless the over-indulgent use of the word ‘declivity’, jokes about boiling your head and puny parodies of T S Eliot fill you with the kind of dread that no words will budge.

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