today I performed dissection for a hope. those tweezers that I love so, twitched in my sweating hand while I operated, the squirming wet idealism slipping in my metal grip. I don't know if these are tears or a sinus infection. dip rubber gloved hands in a bloody bucket, pull my heart out and gut it. hate it hate it hate it. take rusty scissors to these lips, they don't deserve to kiss, snip off this potential for deceit. realizing the patient has been neglected in this delightful mutilation. stab. the surgeon meditates on the whimpering subject, feeling the warm glance of the watchful man behind the glass. mortician's eyes stare into the dull and angry parallels on the table. these gloved hands drive scapels into paper-covered temples. blood pours like regret, but slower, hotter, as it slugs into her eyes behind the glasses. crimson smudged vision. her heart is bleeding from her head, but somehow she's not dead. yet.
the doctored doctor crawls to the glass. please. please please. but help's too far away, and the patient breaks, reflecting, folding in. the surgeon dies inside.
kill me, then put this empty body on a plane.
savemesavemesavemesavemesavemesavemesavemesavemesaveme-
I don't want to be boring. I'd rather be dead. I don't want to be cruel, but better death than lies.
Posted by samantha at April 11, 2004 10:20 PM