morbid.

we are the victims of a medical professional
from the beginning
when his are the very first hands to hold you,
before your mother knows you
to the day he hands you
the tiny amber bottle
to cure your lazy, fat reality.
you see the awards on his wall,
wonder when one will come for you
but you are stuck in bedrest as he
makes new your generation,
something you thought only your mind
could do.
so you die away, and retreat
right back into his rubbergloved hands.