The Happy Saturday

It's cold outside.
Almost as cold as the linoleum in your brain.
Bash.
Bash.
Bash.
Does it hurt yet?
Crack.
Hello sanctuary,
And casual nods to formal goodbyes.

The light enters your pupils
Like a bullet to a brain.
It's funny that as I grow in size,
They seem to
Dilate.
Now that's just
Swell.
I am not the needle in your vein that promises
Early exits.
No questions asked.

So do not blame me.
I can not be the weight on your shoulders.
Nor can I be the thoughts in the back of your mind.
I cannot be the green monster than inhibits all of your
Family.
Friends.
But if I was then this would be a lot easier.

I promise to indulge in your achey breaky pains.
I hereby swear  to stick to my word,
Like clotted blood on dry hands.

But to do that I will need your ribs.
I will need your lungs.
I will need everything around
And including
Your heart.

And to end this I empty the fluid in your lungs into your
White, white bed sheets.
It's as if it softens the blow.