Porcelain and Bicycles

October 20, 2013 § Leave a comment

Brain matter rebounded inside my skull as my lips struck the heavy black tarmac and slid, skin tearing and boiling on the summer pavement. Bicycle tumbling in a clatter and Heidi’s feet pounding with a shock in every step.

Feral vocalizations reverberated through the neighborhood as I exploded to my feet and ran with the blood and the teeth and the bones crumbling from my face; I screamed in the knowledge of the things my brain wouldn’t let me feel. Heidi ran after me. Half a mile I ran, hell-bent for home and reaching for Mother, but knowing she wasn’t there.

My world listed into a green sky; reality was a poorly-laid tilt shift. I saw Heidi dumbstruck, dialing my father and I remembered mother in the hospital, so I shrank in the green grass sky and let it fade.

Morphine. I thought I was better. Told my father we could go home; everything was all right now. Baby blue into my dark and I wavered in his sad that I couldn’t feel. Leaning against the tree trunk legs, hanging on when the world started listing numbly and maybe home wasn’t ready for me yet.

The beans ejected themselves onto my feet and pooled on the white sheets, shifting into small human kidneys taunting my numbness. A process of untangling, tubes and beeping and a red light holding pressure on my finger; bed pans clattered on the cold tile. Cold. My feet were cold.

The world listed and I didn’t move. Bandages ripped from small hands that latched on to the bed as the world spun and flipped, whirling in the fuzzy blue and red geometrics on the wall, taunting, leering at the numbness forcing fingers away from buttons that’d make it fade. Yelling between the wires holding back words.

Faces in the window again. Faces speaking platitudes let me pray for you and can I get you anything as if the wires clenching my teeth tightly closed weren’t sign enough. No Trespassing, I wanted posted. Platitudes wouldn’t bring me back my face.

Tree trunk sleeping while daughter falls.

It’s not my own face anymore.

Tagged: , , , , , ,

We accept hate, love, and apathy. Tell us here.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Porcelain and Bicycles at Roughs & Beards & Nonchalance.


%d bloggers like this: