Tell Me, You’re Not Dead by micala smith
She is there and then Goes blue. Completely frozen lady Stills the room, Her head cocked, no breath. Flipped beneath the skin, Her fingers twitching as frantic legs search, Stuttered shoulder has the metal fix. I help her hold herself There’s not much else. The gasp comes back blaring, Room turned to fuzz. She searches for her body, Tugging through skin and Velcro, The devil’s rhythm shakes from her soles, Feet switched around. Says a prayer to stay with herself Scatters the numbers, asks the bathroom Tells herself about god, Those bewildered eyes only Want to know what she’s got. She knows what she wants: “Shampoo, shampoo, three, four, three, jesus love me, sleep.” You can’t hold someone back from dying.
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