They strip me of metal, even the ring on my ring finger,
then stick an IV in my vein; the shelf I lay on slowly moving into the chamber,
something straight out of a sci-fi flick; they telling me not to move or cough
as they put plugs in my ears against the otherwise unbearable noise, the
machine stirring me up inside in search for what they suspect might be going on;
they won't tell me. so I have to speculate for myself as to what they will
discover and if it is what they think how far along has it progressed, and will
I survive, each scan carrying its own unbearable sound like zombies pounding on
the sides of the machine, desperate to get in at me, I endure it one scan after
the next until they slide me out again, unplug the needle and send me on my way
into the real world
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