My deathbed


My face is staring at the ceiling
 contemplating why I’m laying
on this sterile, blue bed.

My wisdom teeth are about to vanish
from this mouth as if twenty is the age
where you have all the wisdom you need.

My eyelids are drifting down into
this abyss of needles and tubes.
Nurses are scattered around me
waiting to scar my skin.

Blue, latex gloves snapped on their fresh skin
ready to puncture my sterilized flesh
with shiny needles glimmering with hope
 only to crash my spirit in the coming hours.

The anesthesiologist carefully pushes the drugs
 into my melancholy veins
while this excruciating pain
 spreads all over my body
 unapologetically numbing me
as if I’m not numb enough.

These delicate eyelids burst
 open like it is the last moment as me

Strip me from everything I’ve got to give
yet still expect more.

The everlasting contradicting myth;
They say removing wisdom teeth makes you wiser.

It’s been two weeks and I’m

still a damsel in distress.

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