I focused on healing others' scars
That I forgot to heal mine.
Theirs was just a rough scratch,
But mine was a bullethole oozed with overflowing blood.
I want to heal my wound
But my patients need their doc.
So I rush to their beds
Fixed what's broken and went back.
A terrible truth I have found out
Before I could even find my way out,
Blood was all over
And in the hallway I die.
YOU ARE READING
My Daily Pill
PoetryA compilation of thoughts from Day 1 to present. (Finished) Other works: Overdosed Misplaced
