Bad Poetry Dump 3096

the dream

Not every night, but most
We sit on two stools, face each other
Remove our shirts and go to work
Heart surgeries with few supplies
No gloves, no tweezers
Just two scalpels, two needles
We use your hair for sutures
And work as fast as we can
It's painful, it's dirty
But by God, I will live to sew you up
And to pray my stitches hold

And speaking of prayer
On the most wretched nights
There is one syringe of lidocane
We used to fight and bleed
Over who got to use it
But now we flip a coin
And for a moment, while it spins
I am Catholic again, confessing my sins
I am ash, I am dust
Praying to some distant unknown
That I will be granted the needle
So at least you won't have to feel
Just how hard my hands are shaking
Or just how guilty I am

Sometimes I think the good nights
Are the nights where we die
Together on the sterile floor
Bleeding out hand in hand
Or in each other's arms if we can
Peacefully, blissfully
Slipping off to sleep
Under the fluorescent lights
And while I'd rather it be the stars
Looking into your dimming eyes
Like two mirrors into my own
Is enough of a constellation

And the best nights by far
Are the nights where the answer
Is to tear each other apart
Ripping bones from under skin
Hands and lips dripping with life
And surrounded by the gore I feel clean
I die and live again at your hands
Not by our Devil's, but by my friend's
And as the sun rises and paints the sky red
So do we, made whole again