starting then

And I was shoved face into nondescript, green garments,

Just another sign of another shedding token of my normality,

Sitting on a wheelchair,

A victim of bitter perception,

Silent glances and boisterous objections.

It perhaps, was a dream,

Titled ‘A Day At Its Absolute Worst’,

Fraught with thousands of unfamiliar, strange faces,

Unmeant empathy and,

Unsolicited painkillers.

Then post-sleep, comes anticipation,

Of it,

Of that,

Of alas- that-mustn’t-be-named,

Of the tenure under concentrated lights

And painstaking crafting of my mindless vessel of a body,

Of finally waking up to a blinding, spinning room,

Of curious crimson stains and cotton-white bandages,

Of reaching out for familiar faces against the odd backdrop,

Against the struggling explosion somewhere inside.

It echoes,

A loud, resonating feeling,

A constant threat,

A relentless grip around my throat.

Did time stop? (Or did I?)

A day,

Not an eternity,

I was told,

Whatever of mine was,

Said otherwise.

As the inside reels,

The outside turns inside,

Puts on a brave face, 

Lies, needs support.

It’s a whole experience, 

No less, 

Stays with you in the ways

Today greets tonight.

How much happened?

Was it even real?