Self-Portrait in Black and White

If I said I did not want to live anymore,
Would you understand that I meant like this?

The years form a mythology I can almost explain.
I see in colors because they are always so much

A part of the problem:

A fire engine is a backpack and my father.
Dollar bill is a head scarf, star and crescent.

Candy-cane is barbershop and my choice of men.
Gray is skin, the bridge in the center of your eye—

Now, stirring milk into my coffee with a bent spoon,
I stir milk into my coffee with a bent spoon.

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