My Blood Poem by BRUCE MARTONE

MY BLOOD RUNS COLD
MY THOUGHT'S ARE TIRED
WITH A LONG TUBE IN MY ARM
JUST LIKE TIDE
IT'S FLUSHES MY BLOOD CLEAN
WITH MY HUGE ARM THAT I CAN'T HIDE
WHEN HOOK UP TO THE MACHINE
THAT TAKES MY BLOOD FOR A RIDE
WHILE SLOWLY FALLING A SLEEP
AS THE BUTTERFLLY IN DEEP
THROUGH MY TOUGH VEIN
THAT HIDDEN UNDER MY SKIN
MAKING IT HARD TO FIND
BEFORE THEY CAN BEGIN
AND WHEN THEY DO
I SIT FOR HOURS AT A TIME
WAITING FOR IT TO END
AND REMOVE ME FROM MY LINE
SEND ME HOME TO THE NEXT TIME