Medical experiments

Twisting the knife just right you perform your procedure.
A surgical sadist with your cleaver, as the medical reaper there’s not much they can teach ya.
Patients often bleed out as you try to alter their features.
Cos deep down, you’re an artist.
Grooming bodies till they’re smooth like mannequin dollies you like to take risks and chances.
Feeling blood well up between your fingers, your subjects at times, blood deprived, are still alive.
You slice incisions slowly as you begin to feel around inside.
Organs move around your hand, as slick with blood you slip and slide.
How did this person die? Did they cry?
Did they fight back or allow themselves to be hit and submit?

You put them aside and move to a live subject.
She squirms in her cage, afraid.
Emotionally naked like a newborn babe.
Eyes wide, they blaze with defiance, raw and brave.
Laying out your precision tools ever so slowly seems wilfully cruel.
But you play it cool as you begin to scratch the skin’s surface.
Feeling its resistance, the place where it’s thin and your blade burns less.
Then make your incisions.
Your blows quick and precise as you slice fast.
Selecting the perfect tool for every body part, you dare not take a chance.
For this is no ‘death by a thousand cuts’ scenario, oh no.
With every jarring blow… you take your subject to new heights of painful bliss.
As you adminster medical staples, each one a shameful kiss.

But importantly, she’s there of her own free will.
She needs no suicide pill and knows you’re not there to kill.
You’re dispensing exquisite torture.
Time and again she comes back to visit your sadistic fortress.
For she’s a true believer and helps nurture your talent.
Willingly, submitting free to your medical talons, as you draw blood by the chemical gallon.
Those surgical claws that probe her nerves till they’re virtually raw.
To the point where she upends and hits the merciful floor.
But it’s no personal chore, you remind yourself.
You’re performing a valued service and demand is high.
And at the end of the day there’s always more subjects waiting, ready to scream and cry.


By Mikey P

Freelance editor, writer and podcast creator by day. Spoken word poet and screenwriter by night.


Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s