The Slice so Slick

Put a patch on the gash and I think I’m sick

Love the sing of the sting and the slice so slick

What should’ve made it better was just salt packed down

Watch the paint dry to a sickly sort of brown

Memorized the timing of the clouds to start raining

Push and press on cumulus to drip down on the painting

My nurse’s office closed so I’ll play the role of crow

Cry over a habit that I try but can’t let go

It brought relief, yet still builds a killing crushing weight

Therefore I cry, but I’ll still lie and claim my sickness fake