Iodine & Razorblades

Inside of an ambulance.
Your first glimpse violent.
Now the fingers on your hands.
Is there any more that you wanted to say?
We'll meet in an orange colored December.
Iodine and razorblades.

And you smelled like Easter sometimes.
Sometimes it's like you flat-lined in the wake of emptiness.
We slept in the ambiance.
Glowing blankets.
Now the sliver in my hand.
Is there any more that you wanted to say?
Blood clots permeate.

The cells you thought you knew.
Are these veins collapsed now?
A picture with the eyes cut out and every frame like open mouths.