i have fallen asleep, but my eyelids yet weigh heavy. the doctor’s varied needles pinprick my skin, but no blood will rise and meet the glass’ wounds.sleep is my cure, and we are hopeful, he says, his thin veined hand shaking. my lips are forced open, teeth knocked back, as he pours medicine laced opium, a slippery concoction, down my shattered throat. don’t notice the ruin, the breath hissing whispers from should silent places, as my heart is yet ready. goodbye for the present, dear and end, we may hope.
