Wiping palmfuls of blood
out of my eyes,
snapshot of hundreds of pills,
grim half-dream haze.
My dark-unadapted eye, God-centered.
Paper cranes drift from the ceiling,
red ribbons wrap around painted birds.
Faint voice emerges, I glower.
She’s so different,
so useless.
They scream, ashamed of me.
Don’t burden her,
she’s barely there.
Muffled tears behind heavy breaths.
Misty hospital smells comfort me in dark green walls,
never able to concentrate.
Taste bitter salt in the smell of linen,
my mother whispers.
Stay here, listen to
me, awaken.
Reach my hand out, I imagine her:
Dark, nebulous iris, black shawls,
wrinkled hair, face of shadow moon.
Get a grip on reality, I remind myself.
I shrink at the words spoken, strain my voice.
Why must I be so
deprived, a nothing.
She leaves prayer in doctor’s note, paranormal cure.
Dirty water from streets flood windows, steady hallucination.
Someone shoves a blank page in front of me,
I etch the word with paper cut hands,
each letter bleeds through ripped paper - BLIND.
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