Slow suicide

He walks quickly to the sink to wash his reeking hands

Reeking of that sweet smelling lotion; a scent she said she loved

But she isn’t there anymore

He rinses his hands religiously as he’s done times before

Less to wash away that smell but more to cleanse his sins

Those that accuse him greater than the scent in his nostrils

Shaming him and bringing his worth down to depths unseen before

Every indulgence is another stab in his chest

As he kills himself slowly

He does not know as one doesn’t until he’s dead

Or at the point of no return

When the lungs are too full of water you could only die

And it’s just another case of suicide.