One minute I'm here - - the next, the world goes limp. I feel like pulp, pressed flat into paper. Hold up my lungs, wet and red in the light. I am comatose upon the table. Every piece classified and slipped into its relevant jar or vestibule. In winter, I like to lie on the floor. What a sight it must be, A steady inhale of dust and gas-exhaust, Motionless, snow angels on hardwood. I want to dive with the jellyfish, Luminescent and lacy against cold blue. One nip, and the blue ringed octopus Delivers enough neurotoxins to kill. Glass of holy water, drown my sorrows. Sadness is a great soporific. Ensconced in stained sheets, I wait for The distant reckoning dawn.