Oh, Doctor

I count my time now
in drops of blood
and lick these six silver scalpels to death.
I don't know what your cold thrusts
on this operating table
are doing to me,
But my heart's been beating like a broken tap. Bump.
Drip. Bump.
Drip. Bump.
The way you pour that bleach over my body
like surgery
makes me wonder.
Every time I look in the mirror,
why am I a brand new shade of exhausted?
You take my hand,
You tell me, Let's fix these nails,
I say okay.
You touch my face,
You tell me, Let's fix these thoughts and feelings.
I say okay.

Reviews

[Pandrogynite]

This is... all kinds of creepy and morbid. The line " and lick these six silver scalpels to death. " is so odd and so peculiar, yet I totally understand the imagery. *tips hat*. The flow, too, really works well. I'm a little torn on the drip//bump double line in the middle, as I feel like it's forced verbal mirroring whereas the rest of the poem tends to have allusions of mirroring rather than literal and it stands out. But it's also a aural descriptor so perhaps that's the point- regardless, it's the one thing that seems a little off to me.

Regardless, very visceral, erotic, and dark poem. Really well done.

[Christian Tirol Dacula]

ALAS