uh. uh. uh.

s-hisssss.

eerrraahh.

fffffff.

Feel it coming on. The darkness is engulfing my throbbing head. The crystal of my veins is raking through my gut. My bowels jump with ever breath. I feel my spine falling, slinking. Breath. Breath. Never/Always. The eternal continuum of need. Desire. Necessity. Breath. Breath. Never/Always. Continue.

A week ago Thursday I saw a man die. Nothing too traumatic. Simple. 1 bullet thought the upper left quadrant of his chest. Very little blood. Until they opened him up. Everything that you would expect to be coming out of a man with a gunshot wound was there inside him. Apparently his heart exploded. What is that like? To know that the breath I am taking is my last. What does a person on the table of legalized murder think know that this is her last breath?

Pain and sufferingÖthat is life.

Crying/Laughing. One in the same.

Can you feel the person next to you? Can you breath their breath? Does your blood flow through the same veins? Is your sister there? Brother? Comrade? Amigo? Freund?

Can the man who died be of any use to me? Maybe. The bullet was intended for my head. You see I have this problemÖthis thing that grows inside of me. Possibly a bug. Who know? It makes me say thingsÖthings that people donít want to hear. Thing that could get Ö have gotten me arrested. Things that piss people off. That is what happened. The boy. I told him what I thought and he popped a capÖhis aim sucked. Instead of my head he hit the old man on the porch. The man whose life was in the twilight. The saviour. Savory saviour. Tasty.

So yeah, I went with him to the hospital. The morgue. The funeral parlor. The grave. This man. This saviour. This man who took my bullet.

feel it

uh uh uh

please don't call a shrink. this is a work of fiction.