A shitbeat about that special something. 12/22/2015.
When your mind is a vortex, spinning to no place in particular, spinning for the sake of nausea, a spiral of electric jitters, when your body is stiff as if with rigor mortis, like you’re dead already & you can’t let go, when it comes and makes every face into a mask, a distortion, a contortion, a caricature of hatred or disgust, a curled lip, a jagged slice of wet mouth leaking at the edges, lips cracked, tongue swollen & bulbous, slicked with white film, when your skin betrays you with cold sweat, when you can’t feel a thing, when you are ice, dirty ice full of silt and sand, granular, particulate, suspended, upended, when you can’t breathe enough, when you need to run away, when your legs won’t let you run away, when you have nowhere to run if they did, when you are shallow, when you are hollow, when your blood can’t reach to warm you, when you need something but you don’t know what…
She washes it out. She sweeps in on wings of an angel. She whispers in your ear, not words but a soft blanket of sound. She holds you in cool, careful arms and glides. She is a live weight. She grounds your frantic thoughts, though they are moths, tearing themselves apart to reach that impossibly distant moon. She fits exactly to your body like a puzzle piece. She fits exactly to your mind, plugging up your tears and blank spaces with more of her self. She pulls you into a gentle smile, lifting up your corners and softening your eyes. She comes between you and your skin. You feel her there, dissolving, sweeping up the dirt and grime, drawing it out of you, drawing it down the drain. She bears you a second time, a painless birth, unstained by sin, unpunished.
Welcome to the world, little human. Welcome to yourself, little human.