musings of a flighty teenager

morphine: to an ex.

in my chest was a festering wound
bloody and torn and diseased
you saw an opportunity and jumped
you told me you could fix me
you told me this ailment could be trumped

but you didn't throw me in an emergency room
you didn't stick the IVs in my hand
you didn't cauterize my gushing veins
you didn't try to keep me breathing
though i had trusted you with the reins

you gave me a shot of morphine
and picked up a needle and thread
you sutured my laceration haphazardly
but i knew
i could never fight something so dastardly

sure, i was sewn up
it looked okay, i guess
everything was fine, not good, but fine

until the morphine wore off

and the infection spread

and you left me

for dead