Lavender and Leather

Doctor

Every word was a knife,
A scalpel for incision.
Every day was a choice. Each cut was a decision.
I thought I might be done.
I thought you might have won.
And then I remembered I was a motherfucking doctor of precision.

I picked myself up,
Remembered how to compose.
Was out of rotation, that's just how it goes.
This dress, now debris,
But what you missed about me,
Is that I bathe in the nectar of rococo prose.

Words are my tourniquet,
The salve of my soul.
They seep in deep and they heal me whole.
You in your party hat,
I still know your name.
I got my license reinstated, we about to up the game.

The lights are on, bitch,
in the surgery hall.
Hope your anesthesiologist is hella on call.
This is the version of me
That you say you miss?
Let me power up this bonesaw with a sentimental kiss.

Are you feeling any pain,
Or is your soul still numb?
Do you hallucinate my name and wonder where I go and come?
It's your allergic reaction
To my very satisfaction
But it was your infraction that gave me the abstraction.

Now I think we're done here.
I'm headed out of town.
When you heal up well, I hope to see you around.
You'll wave and I'll smile
Because that itch that's within?
I stitched a piece of my dress just underneath your skin.

So when you're alone
you'll reminisce on my skill.
In the center of your palm, you'll be holding the pill.
You'll think you've paid the bill
But in a dull June heat
Beneath your clothes you'll feel the scar of a permanent receipt.