Iron and Salt

I feel in colors, I feel in extremes.

I count obsessively;

3,6,9

7,14,21,49

There is safety in numbers, there is definitive proof

There is joy and sorrow in color

There is starting anew in water

Scrubbing your skin raw is close to godliness

My hands are clean but my mind is mud

All the colors and numbers have run out of room and have run into each other

Pushing and shoving, each demanding its own attention

My heart picks up its pace

My feet begin to sweat

A large and intrusive beast has sat upon my chest and I cannot breathe

The water pushes against the dam, building, climbing higher

There is no gate, no levee to redirect the water and it pushes

It breaks free

And with it all hell

In a moment, as the tears flow I am able to breathe again

But we don’t want to do this anymore

Here take this pill

1,2,3

They are green

I have my safety in numbers and colors

But wait what’s this

Someone has pulled a veil over my sight

The colors are fading

The world is turning grey

I feel…I feel something

It’s something very small

A dot on a spectrum of shades

One line of a barcode

It’s not complete

But it functions

It lays in bed without a beast crushing the air out

It goes through the motions of the day

It knows when to smile and when to frown

It has my face, my voice, my reflection

But it is not me.

Throw them out.

First one

Then two

3,2,1…