Did You See That? I Want One!

....heaven help us now, come crashing down. We'll hear the sound, as you're falling down

True inspiration is hard to fake,
Even with all the doctors and their instruments.
When all is said and the dust settles to dirt,
I know it’s your words that are my ingredients.
While I will take them and stir them,
It’s you who wrote the recipe.
And while I bake them in a oven of ego,
You’re the one that painted the image of me.
I wonder if I’ll ever man up,
Tell the cook, “I’m not your lackey.”
Wondering if all this will ever add up,
Or if I’ll just sit here and work robotically.

Cutting along the dotted lines,
Is the child’s idea of how you perform surgery.
You use the scissors like bush sheers,
But the scalpels like a pen with which  you’d write me.
Sharp blades burn like fire when you slice flesh,
it seems we always use dull blades when cutting someone’s back.
No more anesthetics for the hapless victim,
what wrong did they do me in the past?

“I wear a crown of gold,
As I sit on my throne.
Arrayed in perfect disdain for the lesser,
I have no love, my heart is of stone.”