Currently living in New York, Edis Rune was born in Kosovo and is of Montenegrin descent. He is a poet, novelist, and short-story writer.
Stretch
I was stripped.
The receptionist took my name, my birth-date, my history, my living,
and the stretcher—my body—
and I laid down as a nobody, and was
allowed to only keep my eyes—and stared
at nothing but the florescent lighting.
Limb per limb—the attempt was there—that my organs
be stolen by these bare hands.
My hamstring on its thread—his hand pressed down on my head—
and ripples of cracks around my neck and felt like a snap.
He tied me down—with a belt as similar to a car seat—taking me
for a ride—pulled back the muscles and the cranium of my head—
as if he was looking for the most tender place to electrocute—
‘How does that feel?’
‘Where do you feel it?’
I lied and I liked.
It was all strenuous and teeth clenching, and not
once did my eyes blink—for it was all I had.