The Guillotine

I imagine this is what the guillotine must feel like.  A sudden *whoosh* and then spine, nerves, tendons, blood vessels, and veins, all disconnected in a single blow.  What once was a vital and integral part of a living breathing creature has been cleaved in two.  But unlike a normal person put to death, both the severed Head and Body decapitated  are expected to live on in their current state.  There is no amicable division of property; no joint custody of organs or blood or nutrients.  So Body, if you we’re expecting to have a pleasant thought today, you’re shit out of luck.  Head, if you were expecting to go for a run, same deal… you lost the legs in the split.  Heh.  That’s funny, I think.  

People give the usual platitudes, how a numerous amount of cold blooded, glassy eyed, creatures in the deep blue ocean somewhere is supposed to somehow give me solace.   Because it’s hard to think about fish, when I don’t have a Head.  It’s hard to think about fish when I don’t know if my Head is resting in someone else’s bed.  

It’s hard to think.  

It’s hard.  

Not to.  

Think.

And then I begin to realize, I am not the Body at all.  If I were the Body I could pursue blindly the carnal pleasure of the company of other somebodies.  I could engorge myself on food, I could drown myself in the nectar of drink.  I could  find happiness in activity.  I could go outside and sit in the sunshine, I could splash in the water, I could feel the cold sting of the rain– I could feel anything.  

No, instead I am the Head.   Eyes open, on the pillow, counting every blink and every tick of the clock.  Full of twisting thoughts like a turgid river, constantly shifting and changing in directions.  Closing and opening doors and shutters in my mind, only to find the sharp pain of memories, collected and categorized for some future plans with the Body that simply will not happen.  I am the Head, waking up from fitful sleep in cold sweat clinging to the swiftly tearing edges of a dream where I was running.  Running!  Where there was no jagged scar that went from ear to ear across my throat, no heavy blade that cut me through and through, and I was running, something I had done millions of times but upon waking, I realize– is impossible.

 I am the Head, yet somehow I am full of heartache, though I thought I lost the Heart when the Guillotine hit me, but somehow it too haunts me.  

 So, I think on.  

 

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