Crank (Crank 1)

around my neck:

completely suffocating.

A mad surge

of blood rushed

to my brain,

pounding temples and eardrums

before draining

away completely.

My face went Arctic,

diving deep freeze,

glacier blue.

Graveyard cold

hugged me tight,

rattling teeth and bones.

Chase called my

name. Ms. Sweetwater

skittered to her feet

and everything went black.

Passing Out

is the strangest thing.

One minute

you’re here.

Then with a mere

cerebral flutter,

you’re not.

Part of your brain

insists you’re dead.

Of course, you’re not.

Another part says it’s

better there, in the dark.