The Workshop

The dusty particles in the air looked like

the inside of my mind brought to life

Every spec scattered and bouncing off

each other like repelling thoughts

I bent my neck in agony to gain the attention

of one of the workers

Motioning with my fingernails the exact spot

at the top of my head they need to make the

first incision to peel my scalp back

Saw through my skull and yank my brain free

They placed it on a wooden bench and

held my eyelids open for me to watch

as they gathered their tools

But they're job doesn't begin with the pulsing

pink ball of flesh sweating under the hot glare

of the sun

Instead they return to the gaping hole in my

head

And attempt to fill it words that don't seem to

fit quite right

Bloody streaks of tears were pooling down my

cheeks as I begged them to clean it out first

So they strung out the cobwebs like cotton

candy around their fingers

All of my fears and bad habits clung to them

as stubborn as melting sugar

With it finally gone, the bugs started to make

an appearance

They stung, pricked and bled me as they

vacated and the virus followed close behind

them

The sudden whirring of a machine sprang my

shoulders upright

And I bit my tongue as I felt every thought I

have ever had to question my very existence

be vacuumed up, out and away from me

In that moment I was finally able to plant

my entire heel on the concrete floor and

balance myself for the first time

And then without warning, ice cold water was

poured into me and I started to spasm

My body unfamiliar of what it felt like to feel

alive for the first time

Unfamiliar of what it felt like to hear your own

heartbeat in your ears and knew exactly

where to find it to hear that sound again

When the water had settled and the chill was

thawed off of my bones,

Two Workers tipped me over on my side

and drained me

I wanted that feeling of letting go to last a

little longer

So I held the funnel when the water was

poured again

The second rinse felt and looked less murky

with self hate

I was no longer dirty or stained with trauma

from my past

Deep scars remained, but nothing a little

stuffing couldn't fix

The pink organ seemed to be pulsing with

more determination by the time they were

ready to replace it

I welcomed it as the super glue bind my skull

back together

And barely flinched when the needle

punctured my scalp and pulled the thread tight

I was on my bare feet when I left skipping

through the doors of the workshop

But I was standing on the tip of my toes when I

peered in through the window

Begging them to let me in

Screaming at the workers

Don't you have anything to fix me up too?

-- n.n.b