the same is true for brides and ghosts;
with their ambient white decor,
yet there is something pure about them
when they're gleaming
pristine with shine and full of life
but i'm sure they'll die eventually
maybe then…
like all things…
[beep.]

and for the record
the pinch in my arm is not the high that i am used to,
this ain't no pixie dust, this ain't no drug of choice,
and i don't think my veins like it better,
nor do i want to make this my new home;

this pastel room
with cords and machines
and digital heartbeats,
this room is not the heaven i'd imagined,
it smells sterile not clean, bleached not pured

and this bed isn't made of clouds or cotton candy
and i had always dreamt,
i dreamed that angels would smell like cookies – sugar cookies
sprinkled with cinnamon,
with a dash of powered sugar.
[beep.]

and with eyes closed, heart beating physically and digitally,
i can hear the nurse scuttling around
in those ugly shoes, orthopedic, white like newly painted walls.
[beep.]

so much for wings.
[beep.]

i. just. wish. the. noise. would. stop.
[beep.]

i have a terrible headache.!.
and a story to tell.

so when her eyes finally re-opened,
when she heard the nurse utter those famous words,
"she's waking up, her fever's breaking..."
the nurse; gleaming like a proud mother would,
the patient; waking like a fairy tale.

when the dragon was finally slayed and the princess
was ushered back to safety,
she looks down at her fist clenched so tightly,
and she realizes… i realize,

this is not the syringe i want it to be,
this is not the drug of choice,
this thing clenched so firmly by my fingers
is not the tool of self destruction that i had dreamed,
this thing, firmly in my grasp
is your hand,
and you've been here all this time,
my one semi-sort-of-healthy addiction.

three cheers for sir lance-a-lot.
[beep.]

and i think, "god, i must look like shit."
and you smile.
and i think, "he thinks i look like shit."
and i smile back.
pale, dark lips, dry around the edges,
but it's still a translatable smile, nonetheless.
[beep.]

for the record
the nurse's face wasn't at all pretty
not in my malnutritioned opinion,
but the doctor that was now attending was
god-sent
and he looked very familiar
but this could still be a drug-enduced hallucination,
unless, no, wait...
harry from harvard, yes
that voice, the strength in his hand,
harry liked to choke, he liked my jugular
and my jaw structure...
the only question is
who should be more embarrassed now?
[beep.]

heaven knows that i could be in worse shape
and i know there could be far better outcomes
but i'm thinking… it's time for me to go home,
it's time for one more fix
of something i'm actually addicted to...

maybe just a name
maybe a pair of jeans
something somewhere over the rainbow
and i think it's called a normal life,
any life at all other than the one i'm living...
[beep.]

and i turn to you, sickened lips with purple eyes
and i say something along the lines of,
"see sweetie, angels are not nurses after all,
nurses are nurses, no wings, no clouds, just drugs,
angels on the other hand are nothing but metaphors..."

and she starts talking in third person again,

she was in a hospital corridor
heading for a warm bright light, with jesus around her neck,
"the lord is my surgeon, there is nothing i shall want,"
and prince charming says, "that's just the drugs talking,
contain yourself,"
and he says, "harry from harvard never choked,
he resuscitated..."
[beep.]

i think i'm grounded, back on earth again,
i'd really like my tooth brush and mascara,
and you tell me to relax,
you tell me i need to relax,
and i say, "that's just the drugs talking."
[beep.]

03/07/2006

Author's Note: with the brilliant collaboration powers of frankie sanchez.

Posted on 03/07/2006
Copyright © 2010 Nicole Hyde