His hand glides a steel blade along my shin —
slices and lops the scaly lump,
but I don’t feel his cut
as lidocaine masks the pain.
Instead I watch blood trickle down my leg
and wonder if I can carve you out —
sever memories that cause me grief
those what-ifs that fester
grow malignant in my mind.
The doctor interrupts my musing
with the word invasive.
He’ll need to chop off more bits of me
until the threat is gone.
I nod my head,
resigned to this fate.
I must excise my heart
to be free of your reach.