Rewind

A stiff sheet in my death-grip,
blue, red, blue, red,
strobing me awake.

The too-clean taste of pure oxygen
burning over my tongue,
exploding through my toes.

I've felt most alive
close to the grave.

Stretcher bruises and accusing eyes,
the judgemental glares of strangers and family
in response to my stark confession.

Go ahead,
go away.
I've done without you before.

No one's out-crueled me
to me
more than me.