baptizin

concussion

It was cold
A quick catch of breath
I could taste the smell of paper,
wood polish with a sting of mold and linen
As she held me there
Her soft hands too strong
The grim cruelty of a smile that reinforces a fear
A face distorted by struggle and a bubble of air
Petechial Hemorrhage bloom and beat
behind my eyes and in my ears
Low chatter chanting,
buzzing bees cheer her on
my words without true form, go unheard
spit, choke, a forced concussive sleep
in the name of original sin washed away
“praise jesus” i hear them say
the last thing i remember was thinking,
 "…and thanx for the concussion.“