No fentanyl, midazolam or propofol.
Operation: childhood destruction using
non- sterile gloves.
Removal of parts of the brain and heart,
septic nightmares infect the mind.
   The body shivers, loses control.
Gangrene of the soul.

Antiseptic, aromatic soap,
scraping the epidermal dirt.  
  Scratching so hard, unable
to get rid of the hurt.

Happiness decapitated,
enters the cemetery gates
pointing with her morphine-coated fingers
to her tomb.
Chronic torture and no remorse.
A pre-meditated ****** of dreams and hopes.

Heart strings pulled apart one by one,
nails turning blue under black, velvet gloves.
The burned ashes scattered in the wind
over a turbulent sea,
and waves crash onto shore,
words fail to come out of the mouth;
lost in a forest of thoughts -
This is not adieu.

You colour the chest-implanted violin of life
with drops of  chronic
alkaline comfort.
You deposit in yearly doses
on the upper heart chambers.

You will be buried with her.
The book of souls deciphers
the chemicals were low,
your presence is unwelcomed in peoples' courts.

But  you have always been there
for her.

You are destroying her.
The blood violently regurgitates
back to the left and right cardiac chambers.
She wore that heart proudly in her chest.
She played the heart strings till her fingers
bled with blood.


But what worth do words have right now,
when the damage is really done?
No metallic stent can restore the pathways of the heart.
The violin strings break one by one.