Acid

by Genaro Emiliano Aguilar Saucillo

Rui Silvestre

I crawled to the bathroom. I clung to the walls as if they might flee when I let go. I slammed the door, hoping it wouldn’t fling me back. Scalding water fell onto my stony feet. They wouldn’t budge. Endings are as simple as this, cynical, like the full stop after every lavish gasp. In my mind, I had left the phone on, waiting for my call to be returned. Irony settled in when I realized my first call had been rejected. Pinpointing culprits seemed unfair. Every piece of the jigsaw carried a different, unrelated image. They would never fall into place — how could they? It didn’t matter how I splurged the words or babbled my way through them, or how I implored with my frail, floppy arms. I considered the easy way out. I got sick at the thought of being found like that: rag-dolled. Abrupt. When the metallic aftertaste fled from my mouth — as if a steel rod had pierced my knees — I fell onto myself from the fifth floor. Granite feet. Asphalt. A sidewalk. The winding road unrolled before me like a death notice unfurling. I barely managed to arrive, limping, and so the nurse’s questionnaire unwound as well. Every question was an answer to itself, a piece of the jigsaw where all pieces were identical. Cold. Cold, cold. The nurse kept staring at my hair. Help. My skin was translucent. They still couldn’t see through. The jigsaw obstructed the view. God, I had refused to call again. I preferred to keep my dignity like the pain of a convalescent cat, prostrate upon its deathbed — a cat with an exit wound in its womb, a red sea. I thought the Triage poster would be the last thing I saw, though I only let go of one of my nine lives. They checked off a heart scattered in my hands, or imploded skin, and thus discarded me in the waiting room. The cold slipped through my soles for a whole week. I can’t remember much of it, other than the fog keeping any certainty of the past away. Mirrors told me the hot water had scoured my face. I’m unsure when I sculpted it back into a human expression. I’m afraid the walls might let go of me. I’m now afraid of heights, and of sidewalks.

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Genaro Emiliano Aguilar Saucillo is a Mexican emerging poet. Student leader and Coordinator at Universidad Autónoma Chapingo, Aguilar has been recognized in youth poetry contests, such as those held by Mexico’s National Preparatory School, derived from Mexico’s National Autonomous University. Editor-in-Chief and founder at Paratextos, which was a finalist for Chill Subs & CLMP’s 2025 lit mag incubator. Author of the forthcoming poetry book Jauría (Valparaíso Ediciones, TBD).