Cold hands

You treat them as specimens
Labrats
Cold and calculating in your incision
In your judgment
You put up a front, a squeaky clean pearly smile, and a handshake there
A sympathetic nod, and a wipe of your brow
But inside your dead and cold
As sterile as the white walls, and irradiated metal tools
Numbed by too many bloody latex gloves
And too many deaths by your skilled hands
I'm sure lives have been saved, but can you count the lives lost?
To you; its all about the cost
The dollar
The added luxury to your life
You don't see a patient, a person, a human
You see a project, a cash refund, a number in millions
Those little colored pills, to miracle cure all ills
As side effects destroy them; turn them into societal rejects
Injects; the toxic poison in your veins
Plays with those bloody stains inside his demented mind
Butchers
They cut, and prick, inject and slice
Dice and twice over...no forever they'll steal your soul
Leaving you nothing but a black hole
Where those happy thoughts used to be, are replaced with sweet calm serenity
And boiling insanity
All for THEIR vanity, their profit margin
I see their cold, dead eyes
Hollow spaces, filled with gray
No they can't feel
They are as numb as the nectar they inject
Synthetic appeal
They'll kill you while they heal you
They can't feel your pain
The dementia clawing to escape your brain
But they can; seal you away
Turn you into something new, and improved
A good little sheep following the herd
Sleep walking; you'll never be heard
They'll even give you their shiny golden word
Their metallic calculating diagnosis
Their atrocious implants and metal contraptions to fix your imperfect limbs
They can never wash away their bloody sins
No matter how much they scrub their immaculate skins
Underneath the human shell, their monsters playing games
We're just the toys to amuse their ploys
But I haven't lost my voice, and I'll never let them touch me with their knives
Lives will be lost, but mine will not be among the numbers