Black smoke slips from your lungs,
It engulfs you and then leaves you all at once.
Happiness, compassion, and hope are soon to follow,
And they run away like pigs from a butcher, only to be cornered and eradicated.
New smoke fills you until you're bursting at the seams.
Your clothes stretch out and rip, pooling at your feet,
Your threads unravel until your skin falls off,
Followed by your bones, organs, and everything that makes you who you are.
While the smoke furls around what remains of you,
I begin to put you back together.
Your organs spring to life in unison within a plastic bag,
Your Kool-Aid blood pulses through a system of water bottles and bendy straws,
But it works just as well.
I stick your bones back together with bubble gum,
Pushing the sticky goo into each crack.
I thread a needle with your old string and stitch your skin back together;
The stitches are sloppy, and your skin is pulling tightly,
But it holds.
I tie your clothes together and drape them over you,
Yet the cold air still makes you shiver.
The smoke returns to your body,
And it seems to like the feeling inside your plastic lungs.
Completed, you look a bit different than before;
You're lopsided, cheap, and incorrect.
And that's how I know that you've truly changed.
The smoke that replaced you is full of anger, hate, and greed,
And you can't help but blame me for ruining you.
Your seams tear open slightly when you scream, and I get a peak of what's really inside you.
Plastic bags and leaking bendy straws press against your tearing skin,
And I make an attempt to sew it up so no one needs to suffer.
When I run out of string, you insist that I'm the one at fault,
But the old you would know that it was just a mistake, on both of our parts.
And instead, new you blame me for destroying your beauty.
Your Kool-Aid blood leaks through your skin and stains your shirt.
You're no longer as beautiful as you once were,
But at least I tried, right?