Work Text:
Letting you in was like surgery.
You had a sharp blade
And I had a novocaine high.
Your touch dressed my wound
And your kisses took the edge off.
I recovered in your arms;
Weekly physical therapy in your bed
That left me good as new.
Letting you go was like surgery.
I had no blade,
And a bare medicine cabinet.
I reached with gloveless hands
And removed you from my heart.
Aching and bleeding through my fingers,
I wrap my wound in your old shirt,
Then lie down in my empty bed.
The wound is festering now,
So I wrap it with another shirt.
Your scent lingers on the material-
Sometimes I scarcely smell my own blood.