Glimpses of silver

I was in a place so
far from here, but it
was this place,
folded in upon itself
so infinitely. It was
the place beneath
my breastbone, pressed up
against the side of my heart.
I could feel myself in there,
the weight of myself. I felt like
I was going to puke, or cry.
I wanted to - then I'd know it
was real.
I did know, though, that I shouldn't
be in there. A person belongs in her
head, not seated in such a foreign
place as her own heart. But I couldn't
figure out
how to escape. Glimpses of silver from
the past came to me, but this will always
feel shameful, a feeling reinforced by
too much crimson poetry. So I
clenched my leg as hard
as I could, wanting to bleed so maybe
I would be able to flow through the holes too.
Fretboard fingernails are
no help to me now.
I was panting like a dog, and
like a wet dog I shook, first
just my head, then my entire
body, as I violently and
deliberately shook shook shook,
and suddenly I was nowhere. As
long as I was shaking, I was
nowhere, not in myself, not in my room,
not in this world. I was shaking myself loose.
The first time it didn't
work. When I came back,
it was back to feeling what I
shouldn't feel. I panted and
clenched some more. The
shaking returned though, and the
second I opened my eyes I knew
I was right where I was
supposed to be.
I could stand, I could think,
I could retrieve my pencil
and I could write.