vangoghswhore

AUTOPSY

Out of the dark I carried my muscle
through tunnel and trenches
it throbbed in my hands
fighting for life,
fighting for feeling,
raw, bloody, limp.
The journey was long,
the battle was fierce.
Too weak to continue.
Too weak to continue.
I passed it to you.
You-so clean and shiny.
Me-so dirty, so worn.
Trust was your chariot
I climbed in willingly.
You told me to rest,
the journey was done.
Help was now here.
Help.
Love had conquered.
Love.
The group was waiting
all for your guidance
in surgical gowns
and WalMart worn bifocals
holding
dull knives with sharp edges.
You laid down the muscle
alone on the table
bleeding and missing
the comfort of
Hands
that carried it there.
You opened your hole
the words spilled out
seeping in rust
coloring knives edges
giving life
to all actions performed,.
Your covert direction
for every incision
of deeply sliced apathy
onto the muscle awaiting
its fate.
As a result,
Your leadership strengthened
image improved
elected new Captain
of all the deceivers
so shiny and clean
opening your hole
pouring out words
like antiseptic
"Cunt"
"Whore"
"Slut"
"Hate"
"Bitch"
They clapped in awe
surgery successful;
emotional gutting
small amputeed muscle
unable to escape
helplessly watching
its blood drained
to shiny shot glasses
celebratory clinking
smirking stained ivory
watching it
now
looking back at them
formaldehyde seeping
beating no more
forever infecting the
Hands
that carried it there.
cc: Brie L H