imagine, a car crashing into something, anything...
ambulances do not exist
there is a deep gash across my forehead where it hit the steering wheel
i'm on a highway or a road or a street, somewhere, anywhere with no other cars around
it is night-time, carolina backwoods darkness
but i can see the pain it glows red inside my mind i crawl from the wreckage
brittled knees on asphalt i count the paces silently one year of solitude for every breath,
then suddenly dimmed whiteness bright against my eyelids and as sudden, the feeling from my arms and legs leaves
it come closer, closer closer, i am blinded first by darkness, then by light, no sound, only light
and in a blink of one eye darkness again i count the speckled stars falling from my closed eyelids
the feeling comes back as does the pain
i turn around to what i believe is behind me
and retrace the years through breathing
this is what it feels like to lose what you never had
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myself is sculptor of your body’s idiom: the musician of your wrists; the poet who is afraid only to mistranslate a rhythm in your hair... -E.E. Cummings