You promised that this would only hurt
for a split second,
but your pinpoint precision
with the needle
always seems to cut to the quick,
to the bone,
to the marrow, to my core,
and now a simple Band-Aid
is not enough by a long shot
to heal the ancient wounds
that have been reopened.
I swore I’d never be here again
in your medical industrial complex of doom,
but now that you have me
on the table
go ahead and rip into my flesh…
pry apart the layers of healthy skin
I had built up as protection
against the snake-oil that you push
so sleazily and easily
with that shit smug grin upon your lips.
One dose and I am glowing
with a neon amber translucence
that resonates outward from the blood.
My mind is on fire,
pulsing with electric transmissions
that tap into alien frequencies from the other side.
E.T. phone home…I don’t think so…
there is no saving grace
once the examination has begun in earnest.
Scott Thomas Outlar survived the chaos of both the fire and the flood…barely. Now he spends the hours flowing and fluxing with the ever changing tide of life’s existential nature. His words have appeared in various journals, magazines, and blogs over the past year. Links to his published work can be found at 17numa.wordpress.com.
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