It sits inside infectous cells this piercing pulsating warmth,
I am so pale I feel so frail. Cut me open, leave me my inverted vase.
So I may produce a living seed in a sacred dieing space or would I let them down.
Its proof of my humility, failure is proof of starility
Would they rip it out if it were dead, How would they know?
or would they medicate me again instead and let it grow.
I'm so damned tired, labeled and wired.
Profusly bleeding away taking pieces of life with it.
Sticky leaches inside provoke the effects of it.
Devouring the sweetist fruit and flesh, I can not handle this.
Darvocets, T3's and Demerol, Tortol and Delaudid they've perscribed them all
Pills and shots to candy coat pain, month after month, over and over again.
I in the fetus position then come questions.
can she walk? can she still talk?
I'd tell you but I hold my breath now, tap my veins and do your tests now.
Doped and wired and layed on a slate.
Scalpals, Hemos, Anasthetic on the plate.
Drips and dram and sterile tools plugs and pads in bloody pools.
Sign my name on the line, it's them who knows best.
Barren future, it's my guess.
I know I'd suffer so much less.
If only I could get my wish.
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