​it won’t hurt, they say,

the first time they slice off

a piece of your skin.

they smile as they do that.

you smile back.

it’s what it’s supposed to be, it’s what you’ve seen.

it’s alright, they whisper,

the moment they cut into muscle.

they’re very gentle.

you really don’t notice

the white porcelain floor flood

blood red.

you’re much more busy nodding your head,

as you look them in the eyes.

it’s what you wanted, isn’t it?

all you’ve ever wanted.

so much so, you don’t even realize 

that a whole part of you is gone 

and they’ve moved on,

to another part of you.

a fresh part.

a part that’s been untouched.

so you let them.

because it’s what you wanted.

and you want it so bad,

have wanted it so badly,

dreamt about it –

for years, 

that you can barely hear them laughing …

it’s a far away sound. 

a not quite clear sound.

it’s hard to hear

because your breathing’s turned ragged.

and it’s hard to see

from all the shaking

and what you thought was

your smiling.

because the slicing never stops,

and you try to be strong, 

to keep yourself together,

and that’s when you 

look down

and realize,

there’s nothing left of you 

but some gristle,

some bone, where you can

just make out

the scrapes of their razors 

and you fall over


a bloody heap

of ragged cut bone,

and all you can do 

is turn your head


and look 

with something 

more socket than 


and heave

 one last ragged



as the blue above you

and the red below you

grays out.

it’s what you wanted, 

after all.

Author: marcwritesmoorewords

Wordsmith, Poet, Drummer, Foodie. Fantasy geek. Movie lover. Theater fan. Lover of good drink, great conversation and women who enjoy both. Striving for balance and clarity and humor as I manage my 5th grade students, my ADHD, my Major Depression, and my recently-widowed mother.

2 thoughts on “with.draw.alls.”

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