To give blood
Is a gelid process
One must take the day to rest
To pour out your essence
Have it drained and regifted
There is no greater love
When we gave our plasma
For a few bucks, one day
As poor college students
It coldened me still, to know
That it was my essence being sifted through
To get to the useful parts
It was all you ever wanted
- Author: Euthyphro ( Offline)
- Published: October 14th, 2022 22:23
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
Comments1
Ahhh... memories of donating plasma in my poor student days so so long ago. I had these very feelings... giving whole blood drains you. Donating those useful bits, and getting the cheap red stuff back, always made my mind spin. What did they take that was so tiny but so precious? Was it maybe my soul, or my memories? Was it depleting my very essence in some unknown or undisclosed way? Were they cloning us? Helping rich centenarians rejuvenate? Thanks for the deep way you described it! You got it perfect.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.