I can feel you healing and I hate it,
like a harpist without hands you only bang the strings
you used to love to touch so much
to hear the dissonance drain violently and then dissolve, 
like all the songs i sang, but never once could make you smile.
My God, I would kill to make you smile,
and reach out to my hands, soft and frail,
to make good on the love that you swear still exists,
and still thrives,
though we’ve buried our bodies in blood
and old lies, like, “I’m fine” and “you look so much better than him”.
But don’t trust the surgeon with your heart,
she’s drunk and sips from poison cups, and
don’t you trust the scientist,
he says “life-is-like-a-wineglass” as he spills his drink
like secrets
all across your dress and says:
“My dear, I must confess, I never thought you ever knew
what love was like, for real.
I never thought you needed me.”
La Dispute – The Surgeon & The Scientist