She cleaned me in the shower and I cried.
I never did quite feel my age.
Whenever I look back at old artwork of mine,
old writings or drawings,
it is a clue for me, to me, from me, of me, by me and through me.
I’ve long been a mystery to me.

The night of the accident they put me, uninjured, on a stretcher and there
wrapped me in a pink blanket.
I was so happy for that because I was so cold
om-ing in the corridor.
They took me and put me on a table to slide me in
an MRI machine.
I was so sure then that they were going to **** me.
-the Red Blanket and elite ******* ring and the dark light.-
I was crying then as well
and she promised me I wouldn’t die that night.
My only choice was to trust her
so I did
and wept
and listened to the sounds of the machine.

So it’s like that now.
The dust is all kicked up and
every time I look back there’s different
patterns on the floor.
When it’s my turn for the sound healing
I lie down with a hood around my eyes.
Because the eyes are the only part of the brain
that you can see through the body,
if you don’t count the body.
And I know now I’m going to die a little more today.
So without another pause I say goodbye.
not because I’m used to it,
but because there is nothing left to do.