A Dream for Abreaction by Grace Barnett

Eyes bore holes into themselves,
trying to collect enough courage.
They grip my nose like a handrail that
guides them downward and
slightly to the left. There,

eyes latch onto fatty tissue,
deflated, sagging, stained where
indents and hand-oils incite
old memories of sharp
fingernails near-piercing tissue.

Pulling, twisting, stretching
my cheeks as far as they go
before snapping back the
sickly skin-sacks still stuck
on an unwelcoming face.

Pop rocks start popping in my chest while
bees panic in my fingers, something
spreads, shooting and red to
lungs left unable to
expand
enough,

bees begin capturing control of my hands and
sugary acids travel from my chest to my
face and there’s a shredding
digging ripping peeling
shedding, then
black.

When color comes back,
it’s just red, with
gaping glowering gashes
on either side of my mouth,
flaunting teeth and gums.

A smile spreads, (the best it can).
Eyes crinkling, I laugh an
abnormally airy laugh as
liberating tears stream
freely down my face

and salt enters the wounds.
I wince a little, and remember
sharp fingernails. Nails,
who also have cheeks. Cheeks,
who are still on a face.

I start cleaning the bathroom.