Surgical Assist

When the doors to the OR open
I struggle to cover your eyes,
I hop and I wave shaky hands
To distract from the bloodbath inside.
I try to shield from the nightmare,
From stained gowns and ripped gloves,
From outlines on the pavement,
From all of my festering wounds.
It is not your duty to wipe down
All of the words that sliced skin,
Nor should you suture the holes
Somebody else tore again.
The infection escaping the stitches
Can remind me of the sweet scent of death,
But it isn't your duty to fix me
When I'm pulling my ghosts from my head.
You shouldn't have to keep cleaning
All of my hurt and my pain,
I am broken and willing to refer you again.
The more I try to protect you,
The more I nail shut those doors,
More windows appear in my organs
And more demons crawl through my halls.
I'm sorry I'm ruined, my darling,
That I'm so far away from pristine,
You deserved someone more holy,
Not just hollowing skin.
When the doors to the OR open,
I try to distract you away,
Keep you protected from darkness
In hopes your love will keep it at bay.