Dr. Villanelle

This was a villanelle that I wrote about a year and a half ago in my creative writing class.

Doctor Villanelle

The wounds so gruesome, the blood so red
Covers my hands, and my nice white floor
His heart rate stops, another one dead.

(A picture for your viewing enjoyment)

Blinded and bleeding, strapped to the bed
Moaning in pain, he screams “Please, no more!”
The wounds so gruesome, the blood so red.

‘Make the incision’, I say in my head
Heaving so hard, sweat pours from his pores
His heart rate stops, another one dead.

My palette and paint, morphine and meds
I’ll fix him up, right down to his core!
The wounds so gruesome, the blood so red.

It’s dangerous work, the ground I tread
Cut left, slice right, of me he implores!
His heart rate stops, another one dead.

Torn to pieces, a human salad,
I move his mauled body to the floor
The wounds so gruesome, the blood so red
His heart rate stops, another one dead.

(Note: Not all my poetry is as dark as this. I actually meant for this one to be, how you say... Humerus? Ha! A pun...)

Mind

You can't run
And you can't hide
From everything
You feel inside.

You drown yourself
in Isolation
And trap yourself
in Desolation.

But there's something there
In the corner, it grows.
It's watching you.
It always knows.

In the darkest
Darkness of your soul
It roots itself;
It digs a hole.

It suffocates you
With its cold hands
It manipulates you
And makes demands.

It muffles you if
You try to scream.
And bites you to prove
It's not a dream.

You're lost, you
Don't know what to do.
You cannot kill it,
Because it's you.