it's for the better good

as she

pats the crook

of my arm with

wet gauze,

the scent of alcohol

hanging

in the air,

she

slips the needle gently

into a tapped vein

to pull

our a crimson cloud

of blood,

filling three small

vials.

the glass holding

it all in

the fluorescent

lights, like candy.

i cringe,

but don't look.

it's for the better good

of me,

i tell myself when

subjected to any kind of pain.

let's see

what lies below 

the surface.