it starts with
preliminary negotiations-
putting aside the thought of mortality
to tend to the comatose patient
slip on the lab coat the cold
startling feel of the stethoscope
bending latex fingers at will
to aid the final stroke
resuscitate, young rouge
your conscience will not take kindly
to the discrepancies following
the aftermath of a derelict's downward spiral
when you're waking up sober and unarmed tomorrow
" it seems life has thwarted my plans to go
but i though the transition to death was in my control"
well,
confusion will hinder your twelve steps back
to reality
but life goes on, so what do you know?
Comments
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Poet
I guess it is just the cold reality of a job where life and death are taken for granted. Chilling write indeed. Caused me to see myself there as just a lump of flesh.
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