Forced conversation starts
while the cold instrument opens-
Breathe...
Words say things about the son,
the daughter, the funny things they do..
Tap and poke
followed by a serious pinch..
One can only gasp,
before the conversation picks back up.
Time expands longer,
as sweaty palms grip the chair.
Hurry and finish-
please get that out of me..
Counting the specks of grey to white,
splayed across gypsum ceiling
Something trickles, flows
staunched by nitrate gun.
It's blessedly over..
Closing the door upon exit,
anguish fills the sudden sob.
The blood-filled trip
into never-should-have-been land.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
~Pamela 
Very well described, almost TOO well!! Yuck!! Best of luck in the contest. 
