Broken

Seventy five is what you said.
I believed you- now I lay weak in a bed.
Seventy five of one hundred would win.
I can’t even raise this hand, it’s so thin.
Look at the waste you have made of my soul.
This is not what you said, and not what you told.
Look at this body, now one- tenth as strong.
You said this was good, why were you wrong?
My parents paid thousands for me to get well.
Their lives they’d give, their lives they’d sell.
They put faith in you and for that they have paid.
They watch in despair as I slowly slip away.
You knew it would kill me, and you said this was right.
I’ve stopped trying to live, I’ve lost my will to fight.
Is this what you meant when you said I would heal?
I am moved in a wheelchair, others feed me my meals.
Did you know I would die when you saw me that day?
Did you know Dad was wasting all the money he paid?
Did you think of the tears you would cause my mother?
Her one wish was for me, her prayers for no other.
All the x- rays and tests, the pills and the meds
Have not kept your patients from living as dead.
They say you’re experts, yet what good have you done?
You break peoples’ lives- do you find that much fun?