keep the doctor away

the blood in these veins
runs thicker,
clots slower,
than most. 
i’ve never needed anesthesia;
i faint before each incision made,
and don’t bleed out by the time
they say: we’re done.

is the receptionist there?
why don’t you answer the bell;
only exceptions
for emergency cases
with an appointment made.

the queue’s getting longer,
and my heart is slowing,
fondling the edges,
i pick at the scabs –
people always tell me not to.

and now the scar’s wide open,
you’re pouring in morphine
like the depths of my heart emptied;

who’s sick one,

you or me?

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