Radioactive

 

They had to lock me up.  For the sake of science they said. The iron in my blood had turned into plutonium. I was transformed into an interdimensional being who traversed both space and time. I had ludicrous possibilities – ever unfolding in the shimmering of dreams.    They put me in the psyche ward, because I was high, way too fucking high.   They didn’t have the instruments with which to chart my design.

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘I’m in a hospital.’

‘Do you know where?’

‘Yes, here. I’m in this hospital.’

‘Do you remember my name?’

‘Should I?’

‘No reason really.’

‘Why am I here?’

‘You have plutonium in your blood.’

Cascade and eclipse.  Another sequence of nightmare realities. This place is a meat factory. They are out to get me.  I hear them calling my name.   This is a world of paid assassins cynical and cold. Down in the basement secret mind swaps create brand new fictions. My identity is fluid and slips between the angles of things too strange to ever define.

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘I’m in hospital’

‘Do you remember my name?’

‘Why am I here?’

‘You have plutonium in your blood.’

‘When can I go home?’

‘We have to defuse you first…’

Here at ground zero, my near fatal exposure has annihilated my options.  So they locked me up.  But, I’m no danger to anyone. I just need to leave this place.  I want to go home. ‘Do you remember my name?’   No, I remember nothing.  Let me out of this cage.  I don’t belong in here.  I’m just a radioactive prisoner playing stone age games of fear.