deromanticism

when they inject general anaesthesia into the iv drip on the back of the wrist, please do not be mistakenly expecting some swirling slumber descending upon your self like fluffy clouds; it is liquid pain coursing luxuriantly slowly through your arm towards your heart.

you squint uncontrollably and wince, a dreaming drunk wrenched from the comforting darkness and suddenly exposed to glaring sunshine. worst of all, you don't even have the decent civility to scream. what ensues instead is some strangled, warbled, surprised gasp punctuated by slightly frothing spittle.