A Terrible Promise to Lady L

Instead of healing my wounds,
they slathered some ointment on the injury,
slapped a band-aid on it, 
and let me leave.

I knew the scar that would grow
would be deeply etched and irrevocable.

I knew the disease that had seeped into the gash,
now swimming in my blood,
would slowly cause me to rot internally
before there was ever a visible clue to my condition.

But they weren’t interested
in actually addressing the disease
resulting in my slow death.
They were only bartering on borrowed time
to get me out their door,
hoping I’d forget their disinterest and
continue payment on their exorbitant tab.