October #10

there is no premeditation here.
i do not examine,
pause the wordflow.
no cork stops my mouth.
my wine pours out intoxicating
drowning
and it's up to you to drink or pass by.
can you live with this,
my sick gold, my horrible wealth?
there is no pausing here.
i pull back my sleeves and thrust my heavy hands
into the bloody, open mess of a body.
i refuse scalpels,
use sharpened rocks.
instead of stitches i leave patients to slowly sew themselves up,
with the thread they make themselves.
i am not silent, i am not kind,
i am not cruel - only truthful.