MJC (1/27/92 / Edina, MN)


“Okay, you’ll only
feel a slight
sting as it
moves through.”
It should have
been a warning to
how he would make
me feel.

You coursed through,
not stinging—
very under described—
no, like gasoline-doused
nerves lit bright
and majestically,
painfully beautiful.
Every pain intensified
and doubled,
completely agonizing
to the point of incoherent screaming.

Like fireworks in
my veins,
ricocheting around with
nowhere to vent,
nowhere to explode
except under the skin.

And then it slowly drowned
in abyss,
my eyes crossing from
instant delirium,
dazed by how the suffering
left me so quickly.
My breath comes shallow
as my eyes are struggling
to focus,
to ward away the blackness
that awaits,
my fears illuminated
in the daylight
beneath my closed lids.

And your forced confused state
upon me
slowly slipped away eventually,
a blanket of restless unconsciousness
falling lightly to the floor.

And I check
to see if you’ve
done any damage;
oh yes, I’m ravaged.

Parts of my body
still unwilling to feel,
numb from the initial pain
you brought me
in a glass vile
on a silver platter.

And still,
my throat clenches
when in thought
of the indifference
you induced me with.
It is this drug
that is still pumping through,
still tainting,
and it does not want to lift,
not wanting to feel that same
fiery pain once again;
trying to shelter like no one can.

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