thisisallwrong

Slowly we peel away the layers and the light seeps through the cracks. You
whispered softly in my ear "the birth of morning's upon us, dear," the
bandages feel upon the floor. And there was no one in that room. It's quiet
down the hallway where the doctors wash their hands. Behind my eyes I feel
the hollow jabs of your morphine kiss. Your anesthetic voice is autographed
upon my bones. This reception died in vein. In vain. A tarnished angel
leaves her ghost on the surface. A jealous daughter starves to death for the
mother as I awaited your return. I wait for your return. It seems the only
way that I will ever feel alive. Throw myself into my injuries and close my
eyes. I'd give anything to feel alive. And I will wait for you tonight. The
scalpel carves a map for you.