I am a magician
as well as the box
it's contents are my organs
and I try to pull them out
show them off
on a happy display
echos of ooo's
aaa's
im doing well
but everyone knows
magic is created
where the heart lives
and where little kids wander
off to the woods
fairy tales i wish i was still
a part of
the routine is fake
like the smile;
it is used for assurance
for others well being
certainly not my own
magic is a placebo
for how I really feel
occassionaly
I get asked
how'd you do it?
but telling will put me back
to the beginning
white coats running everywhere
machines beeping
disinfectant being sprayed
contraptions shoving air
back into my lungs
men with heavy accents
deciphering and diagnosing
and i will wish
magic was in my hands
so one quick flick
and i'd be
gone