Two little bottles staring quizzically, whimsically whispering Eat me, Drink me, it was a cold autumn morning and I rejected the notion to be. Telephone boxes were red then, scratched perspex burst the sun, interior was always cloudy. I was tired inside my eyes, too much sleep passing the limit of anguish, exiling hunger to the point of banished famish, my abdomen had vanished I couldn’t eat. I held the transparent grooves to my lips, drops moisturised my throat, it hurt to swallow so I quit. I read the instructions, which was dyslexic since I had no intention to obey the printed. Writing was on the wall. Didn’t have mobiles then so nobody would call and I was too far away from anyone to hear voices if they stuttered so in defiance I stood tall.
Cars drove past, oblivious, caterpillars like sheep. I wanted all the emotion to cease, the pain was sincere and I didn’t want to be here. The white dots drowned inside of me, flood gates opened, one after another after another self-prescribed perspective respectively. That was easy, standing in peace with enlightened knowledge I was going to be free, I wasn’t even sorry for any blotted tears, they’d only have been cried through fiery heat and hidden curls, taste my life restrained by laws made only for girls.
I returned to the communal concrete box where the planted seed had died. Sight highly incensed with bright white walls and reflections, bodies rush by ignoring my introspection. A concerned few words pointed my way every now and then. I didn’t answer, mind preoccupied with my monarch of the glen. I sunk lower and lower into my seat, time for the bench to be hungry. It wanted to suck and sup on me until I was no longer, me. I didn’t mind. It didn’t matter, my body became elastic and I joined with the plastic, ecstatic that I grew blind.
My eyelids were heavy and my lashes grew like a beard weaving their mesh across my cheeks. I could hear the world, an indistinguishable machine gun of bullet words, bleeding wounds disappeared. Too many pills infiltrated my still frame, I could barely breathe, head face down, my canteen is empty. I’m sleeping. Each pore seeping into undefined realms, a tiny piece of conscious thought finds the walls are swirling, trapped in a twirling vortex, I’m dizzy, hands of gravity pushing down on me, can’t you see?
Can’t feel below my neck. I’m living in a dream and I am writing the final lines of my shortlived journey. My head echoes within cavities of pink cellular structures ruptured, causing damage in savage gardens, unable to sustain exorcisms, each ghost a Russian Doll heading into infinitesimal infinity, inside the other is another and another. My shoulders collapse under a skull belonging to an identity I forget, crushing my collarbone under the weight of the fall, as densely accustomed to those swinging iron balls dangling from trains of shackling chains, my realities refract backwards and I start to wonder if I’m sane, or even if I am wondering at all.
I can feel the space in my head, pressuring the underneath of my scalp, shouting and aching, the numbness is escaping but all I can think is I am. Discombobulating. The nothing bleeds from my ears and my lobes throb, cochlea spirals in resignation, hands me written notice in mime, Nobel peace prize should be awarded to my limbs for this collaborative rob, synchronised in designer breathlessness asphyxiated by an out of body all-powerful mob. Hurtled against clinical whiteness but it’s just colourless light, quiet grows loud enough to shatter my chattering synapses, lapsing and silencing relentless voices internally exhaled. I can barely feel my heart beating once every two blue moons, my chest is not rising neither is it falling but the stillness moves.
Trapped, unable to speak. Too weak. Paralysis. Panic-stricken I shriek, but my lips are asleep. Tingling.