Dressing our own bandages

Grab the plaster, feel the wound. Lick out the salt that rubbed in over the years.
We live our love on antibiotics.
I wash my hands before surgery. You wash your hands of this.
Coated in blood and the hurt of memories.
I’m trying to revive us, I’m feeling for the pulse.
You’re pulling the cord, choking off the truth.
Kill the love that’s dying, as all I can do I sit and pray.
Shuffling to the mortal coil of something else.
I was always hesitant. Uncomfortable in you coercion.
Reassured paradoxically in your disregard for me. Happy to let you steer the course.
We’re turning blue. Deeper than you, or I this love has no bounds.
Legal in places, welcomed in others. Sweet reliefs and candy treats.
The euthanasia of us is the only thing on your mind.
I cannot hold your hand while you slip away. I will not be party to it.
So I weld you to my side, and dig my heals in. If you go, I’m going too.

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