Countdown

Tear through the wounded scalp
Melt your face into the cotton pillow
Go ahead, close the door, windows,
Rip out one of your ribs.
Breathe,
Deeply from a frail chest,
Whose reliable state has collapsed.
Shut your eyes, bite your fingers
The pain will reach the ceiling.
Ceiling: a bottomless sky,
An expanse of mystery and beyond
So close to the heat of your palms
No longer yellow, but blue.
And finally, back to Earth,
Holding onto new nails.