Needle

They lay me back, taking the pressure,
High iron, lots of energy, healthy,
Made to donate, they say.
Needle pierces the skin, a pint the maximum
One can give away to those who need it,
Yet as they pull the needle out of the puncture,
Plaster it up as the slight bruising begins to form,
I just want to stick myself again, take it all out,
Lose all the blood that keeps me alive.

Strangers leave this room with smiles,
Knowing they have changed somebody’s life;
I laugh with my friends whose smiles I envy,
Resisting the urge to just hook myself to the
Machine and let myself slip into sleep.
A release is within my grasp that I cannot have,
An excuse that would absolve me of all blame,
Allowing me to flee just like he did,
Just not as obvious to the eyes of everybody.

Others seek an escape through needles, too,
But I am not like those who litter the City Centre,
Hogging the paths because they have nowhere to go,
No jobs to pay them, nobody to help them;
Down and outs whose numbers never came up,
Or who played Chance and paid the price for it.
I am not these people, I never will be these people,
I have more than I need and probably always will,
So why do I want a needle to help me run for?