behind my eyelids

Lie images, sounds, the should-haves, ever present. Steam appearing from a vent. Bubbling concealed blood in a cold throat. My daughter's lower lashes as they moistened with tears, her dignity as she stood and declared, 'i need a moment to collect my thoughts'. 7 year old thoughts. How many times every day do I make choices, so seemingly innocuous, only to find each weighs heavy with implication. I never want to choose again. I wish to be motionless, impactless, unknown and unseen. I want to scrub the back of my eyelids clean.

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