I stick my self in the microwave trapped in a sealed bag and set the time for twenty-four hours, seven days a week.
I count the seconds and wait to explode
But I don’t, instead I shrink with the bag and we shrivel up melting into one. The bag and me,
Cursing the desperation to get out becomes too real. I can’t deal with life on life’s terms. “**** God!”, I say to myself. I am the stick and he is the drum. All about me, I’m in control.
Obsessed with resentment, I hug my body and wait to die. The burning fumes fill my eyes, my ears and my nose. There is blood all over my body. Fourth degree burn seeps into my brain through my skull. I am sinking but
Was me who tightened the noose around my neck ; was me to throw the anchor to the bottom of lava’s abyss. For one split second a spark surges into my soul causing me feel alive and free. Small holes form through the bag growing at light speed. The toxic lava shooting out worry fear, and every loss until the bag is parched.
Still sealed in I claw at the holes with what’s left of my hand. Vanishing around me, they all seal up. In two seconds dark will suffocate me. No longer can I fight to stay alive.
I close my eyes and prepare to die
But when I open them I’m not inside anymore
Instead I’m outside the microwave back into my own body, flaws and all. I felt a powerful spirit pull me back to life just for today.
I will never forget the beat of the drum sound my name. I am the drum, God is the stick.
We beat as one. Together we walk the path, no longer just me,
Because God and I are meant to be.
Today in recovery .