on each side one on each temple
an electrode stuck the pads itched
the shrink waiting for anesthesia
asked me if I was ready
comfortable, tired I heard him
from the beginning in a past lifetime
my IV stung me my hand burned
I floated on the ceiling
I saw fluorescent auras beyond the doctor’s thoughts
burst into flames clouds of smoke formed halos
the nurses without winking
whispered about the other patients
drugs that give people nightmares
scream through veins fantasize about
everything but sex life in grayscale
makes you yearn for icepick lobotomies
neon tranquilizers are now in neutral colors
after shock I can’t remember
they tease us with our dreams
modern medicine will fix what ails us.
Amy Suzanne Parker is a PhD student in Binghamton University’s English and Creative Writing program. Her work is forthcoming in DIAGRAM and has appeared in Pithead Chapel, Hobart, Entropy, The Mighty, Witch Craft Magazine, Burrow Press Review, and elsewhere. Originally from the Tampa Bay Area, she loves a good storm.
Serotonin 