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.