The Doctor
He sucked my blood three times
For those tests tests tests.
Was I not good enough standing
There in front of him, alive?
Undrained, I even smiled
To let him know I’m doing fine.
But he had to know I’m good.
He had to be really sure.
The last drop is drained
Like a dried up well, my veins
Invite his needle to crawl in
And suck at my heart again.
Why could he not know
That the hole in my heart
Would kill me? The inept.
Or maybe he knew it would?
His rubber gloves disgust me,
His sanitised hands, in the
Whiteness of the promised land
Now soaked red with my blood.
