If I could,
I would surgically remove you,
fingers carving precisely
around the lines
of your leeching,
tearing the veins out
that you bled dry.
And when it was done,
I'd gasp for
oxygen, sewing up
the excavated trench
and mopping the
remains of my tears,
splattered like so many
rotten hopes
as I remembered
to take off the
glasses that
were sharply stained
with red.
