Leech Jar Poem by Stefanie Fontker

She sees it, just a glimpse
The leech jar, her medicine
In bed, flat, tired, breathless
She wants it, all of it
More than the suggested dose
And then she wonders, ponders
If one can overdose on leeches
Shuddering, it doesn't matter
She clutches the sides of her
Tomb, her bed in a hospice
Knuckles already white
She only wants to see them
Grow darker, her skin return
To its natural state,
She absolutely loathes
This sickly pale tone
She'd rather be dead,
Or strangled, blue is pretty
Her mind refocuses as it draws
Near, she sees more clearly
The doctor, the man with knives
Administers the remedy, not the cure
Her head lolls back, she is content
Red is by far her favourite colour