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I have to say, my love.

I have to say, my love,
That I can't help it.

You don't want the mess.
You don't want the pain.
But this cannot be clean,
This cannot be surgical,
This cannot be sterile,
This cannot be white latex gloves
and white starched coats.

This is a thing that breathes and bleeds.
How can you expect
No pain, no hysterics, no fear, no doubts, no mess?

You ask not only for the death
but for the dissection and falsification.
You ask me to clean it, paint it, pump it
Full of formaldehyde embalmings,
Rid it of the stink of decay.

Please, oh God, please,
I need the death to be foul and unpleasant,
coupled the natural dignity of grief and mourning.

This is all I have to say, my love.

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Comments


  • CourtJester
    July 13

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    Excellent!

    I know this feeling well, what love can be all of those nice clean things? One in the movies maybe? Anyway, great write!