Some things we can’t comprehend,
There are wounds that will never mend,
Tender to the touch, pus filled and laced with need,
Silver nitrate to cauterize yet still we bleed,
White coats, sharp metal and cold objectivity,
Subjective amputation, no room for sensitivity,
Our entire being defined and mapped by charts,
Digits in flowing valleys with no hearts,
Things we can’t see, so small but all consuming,
Encourage a suffocating fear forever looming,
This relentless decay, driving a hypnotizing fatigue,
A glimpse of the black waltz, a secret intrigue.