It’s a bright sunny day outside.
Inside her childhood memories are melting away,
sinking deeper and deeper into electricity.
In this burning psychedelic daydream,
her cerebellum’s doing backflips and somersaults,
spinning rooms with fading hopes.
She sees the doctor’s dark eyes through the fog,
his hand twisting her fate with every turn,
her body convulses like a flapping salmon.
She bites down on the rubber mouthpiece,
her only anchor in this outdated technique.
Smoke rings rising to the top,
brain cells flicker like a flashing traffic light,
high pitched voices of opera singers,
black swans floating on muddy rivers.
Her body smells of burning rubber.
Her soul tells her never to give up.
This poem first published in the Scarlet Leaf Review in the March/April 2019 issue.