' T H E    D O C T O R '

The infection was sweet,
Creeping into blood
Settling, nestled into cells.
Trojan lust
Hidden under guise of intimacy 
When you kissed me,
Tongue reaching deep within me like parasite.
Curling around the string of my navel pulling me
In
I did not notice the satin ribbon tied daintily around my wrist
Anchor me to you like puppet
To master.
You called yourself doctor 
To the illness of naivety 
Cure for childlike views of love.
Cut off the head and divide in separate graves.
Quarantine parts from outside influence
Control the body without ever touching 
Stroking
Allow bacteria to infect every cell of my brain until I was what you deemed correct,
Diseased 
Stepford 
Eat away at every part 
Picking away at seams of self
Tearing identity as flesh
Until the only morsel left unbutchered on your table was resistant
Failed healer
False god
To your defiance
I cured myself. 
EMILY HANA
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