Security System

1.

Blue light filter on

My body was scrubbed red in the shower

In bed, I rest with an inch open window

Wind flows in, hitting my face illuminated by the evening feed

My eyes hurt

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

I shove the cord into my phone to charge

Lying on my side, I glance at the clear bottle:

Alcohol

Vitamin E

Aloe Vera.

One squirt into my right hand,

meet my left

and rub.

Between my fingers, under my nails and down my healed scars on my wrist

Alcohol kills everything that covered my phone

My phone is dirty as the world.

Dried, my hands suffocate beneath my pillow

I blink at the small gap between the glass and my wall which lets me

watch the world.

The sharp scent of alcohol covering my hands like blood

It’s clean. I’m clean. My hands are clean.

Outside,

the city lights pollute the starry sky

Inside,

anxiety trashes my universal mind

Grunting, I spin in my bed back to the grog

Addicted to the clean slate, I pump another sip into my hands

and rub it in

I am clean. I am clean.

Shoving my hands down my blanket, I feel my warm skin

Trying not to think about how many things

I’ve touched.

I am clean. I am clean.

Sleep finds me with my hands clamped between my thighs

I am not dirty. I am clean.

2.

Why did I apologise just now?

I wasn’t at fault. It wasn’t my fault.

Why did I apologise just now?

I’m sorry for apologising

I’m sorry for apologising about apologising

I’m sorry for apologising about apologising about…

Why did I apologise?

3.

‘Nice to meet you, I’m Lay,’ I extend my hand

as is expected.

They shake my hand with their hand.

We sit around a table covered in markers and paper.

My hand sits on my knee like a prisoner of war

Ten. Twenty minutes. Half an hour.

Now should be okay. I’m polite enough to wait.

I walk, not run, following the pink and blue symbols that do not apply to me

Using my hand,

I open the door and enter the accessible agender toilet

I grimace

No toilet seat cover

I lock the door

Nearly tripping over my feet to the sink

Water. Soap. Water. Soap. Water.

Three paper towels to dry my hands

Another to unlock the door, open it before throwing it in the bin with my foot imprisoned between the door and its frame.

I return to the table back to my seat

Content with my purity

Guilt floods my veins as we make eye contact across the table.

I look down at my hands

4.

My nose is running like it has places to go

My head is pounding my brain into slime

My skeleton is made out of lead

My throat is coated in mercury

I pick up my phone.

Typing my symptoms into google, I think about what I could have; Cold?      Tonsillitis. Influenza. COVID-19…

Internet says it could be a cold or a rare disease that’s common in Brazil.

I could have the Brazilian household infection

What have I eaten?

What have I touched?

Any of my friends went to Brazil recently?

Fuck, that’s racist. I am not racist.

But that’s what racist people say!

I sneeze and pain shoots behind my forehead

I scroll further down

Inflammation of the brain. Meningitis.

My brain is hot

It’s getting hotter as I read

God, should I call a nurse on call?

Am I gonna die?

I shed my blanket cocoon

I stumble downstairs into the kitchen

I pull strawberries in a plastic coffin from the fridge

Decay spots the red skin

I bite into the fresher flesh of the fruit

Throwing the berry corpses into the bin, I lick my teeth

I wash my hands with the cold water and lime soap

I fill up a translucent glass with water

I hate these bloody stairs

Darkness pours out of my bedroom

I step inside

I place down the cup to rifle through my clear medicine box

I inhale two paracetamol tablets

The tablets are washed down by the water I ascended with

‘Hey Siri. What’s the time?’ I ask my phone, eyes burning

‘9:30PM’ Siri replies while I rub my eyes

‘Hey Siri. Put a timer on for two hours.’

If I am dead in two hours,

oh well

If I feel better in two hours,

all is well