My doctor said she could give me a pill.
You know, before they cut me open to alphabetize my insides again?
That way I wouldn’t know what hit me.
Hit, hurt, wound > isn’t it all the same?
End of the day you’re left with little pieces of you on the floor
and someone’s gotta clean up the mess, show you how to walk again.
Who wants to remember all of that?
Better to take the pill, swallow it down with an ocean of tears,
wake up smaller than you used to be, but not by all that much.