"Suicide is a disease of singularity and selfhood...* William H. Gass

The most disturbing part of 
my hallucinated memory 
returns to me swimming black 
out of that moist cold haze 
of intoxication recalled. 
He confessing feelings in 
cryptic entrapping euphemisms. 
She offering counter explanations, 
causing her to realize 
her vulnerable condition 
in a flash of deep insight, 
as she causes him to see 
what his feelings disguised 
from his inner vision, until just then--
her fragile state of mind.
His concern for me.  
Words in blind void heard. 
No lip movement. 
Could not see him telling me
how I looked like the woman 
in the Bukowski film 
"Tales of Ordinary Madness." 
My toughness really
vulnerability. Disconnected 
from those controls placed 
on others by general society. 
Like her, with no one--
not even her one true love--
able to really understand 
her individuality, her need 
to be a free full person, 
regardless that she's female. 
And how the world thinks 
about her as that--female only. 
Men wanting to use her body, 
her love--to make themselves 
feel good. Not her, no one 
to make her feel good--no 
other woman befriending, 
judging with calculated envy. 
She the most vulnerable 
to suicide.