She clicks down the hallway in cherry-red shoes,
dragging a needle and humming the blues.
With a clipboard full of sins she’s marked in chalk,
and a smile sharp enough to make time stop.
The patients applaud from their straps and chains,
as she takes a bow through their leaking brains.
One wink from her, and you forget your name–
but don’t worry, sweetie,
she’ll carve you a new one just the same.
It’s Nurse Nancy’s Lobotomy Show–
where the lights are bright, and the bleeding is slow.
We snip, we clip, we drill through the snow,
and scoop out the thoughts that don’t fit the flow.
She’s got lipstick smeared on her surgical mask,
and asks for your secrets like it’s just a task.
“Where does it hurt?” she coos with delight,
as the bone saw hums in the pale spotlight.
You dance when she taps your spinal cord,
a puppet on strings from a rusted board.
And when you scream, she just clicks her tongue,
“Now now, darling. The worst is yet to come.”
They say she once smiled a man to death,
filed his sanity with her breath.
Now she keeps her trophies in the fridge–
next to the milk and a severed bridge.
So close your eyes, count back from ten,
and wake up stitched to yourself again.
With flowers in your frontal lobe,
and love notes etched in an electro-probe.