An ocean of iron(y) in my brain— Coursing, rushing, flooding veins Neuropsychologists inside my head I think they think my brain is dead Are they correct? Can they be right? Have my once strong waves Given up this fight? I did I did I did I did flee from memory— My wings were just a few feathers And I fluttered, searching in the ether— There was nothing Nothing I could trust Nowhere to cling Sprinkled on the ground: an infinity of waves and fire and sound Under, beneath— I saw loss I saw nothing No one I searched— for a way back to: my world my life my son. Like time— my blood moves slowly then shoots me Memories are bullets– shooting, blasting, missing— Each hour more unclear Who is this person in this mirror? Girl, woman, old lady? I don’t fucking know I think I’m, now— The American psycho.
Michelle O’Kane 