My vision burned like microfilm, frame to core.Then it was all shadow & line. That fistof candy stars scattered across the ER—that could not be my mind—but I was alreadyexpelling my body from my body.My body turned inside out, then outside in.I felt like a bag of blood. I was a bag of blood.Feeling & being: twin pebbles passed between three shells,identical & vanishing. Everyone thought what a wastebecause I thought what a waste. Oh it was humiliating.I wanted to be monogamous with my suffering,to be regarded only by the obsidian eyeof that which devours me. Instead, I made myself a dramaof dry obsessions, my seaweed & my animal partsspit into the suicide’s scrutinized theater.There was death. Death was a single-celled organismreacting to light. It moved towards meon its slow bristles of cilia, crawled over my face& continued its journey elsewhere.