My Suture

You take the hint without delay
And draw away the pain into a glass
Vial, so we can talk about it for a while
And look at how it moves and morphs
Discuss how much it hurts and why
And when and what they said, upon
Reaching conversations end you hang up
Your stethoscope, relieved that my heart
Is still beating underneath these layers of
Bundled fears and aspirations which somehow
Crumbled over the years, you accept tears as
A form of payment and won’t relent until they’re
Cascading down my face, and hold me tight
Because you can tell I broke down inside and need
Someone to tape it back up, it’s rough going with
Open wounds, festering infections that kill the mood
Of happiness, you don’t stand for this and take the
Needle into your own hand, and knot the thread
Through, but it’s not the suture that fixes me,
It’s you.

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