Sunday, May 17, 2015

Eaten.

As time passes,
I lose more parts
To strangers, relatives,
The elderly, babies,
Collection agencies,
Friends, therapy,
To my girlfriend, 
And people I care about. 

To myself. 

Walking, running, sitting,
Unconscious, awake,
It doesn't matter. 
Like a poster tacked
To a wall,
I am resigned to my outcome. 

Jaws snap, canines slice,
Molars grind, swallowed whole. 
Pieces missing:
Pinky fingers, a foot, an arm,
Half a sternum, 3/4 of a heart,
And the whole frontal lobe
Replaced by bite marks
And strands of warm saliva. 

Gone. Gone. Gone. 

Veins dangling stuck between teeth,
Like a row of used nooses hanging
From a beam in the rafters. 
My emotions are infected,
And pouring out of the fresh lacerations
Onto the tiled kitchen floor. 

I don't notice, even recognize. 
Can't begin to process
What's happening. 

Alone. 

Laying on a couch. 
Packing open wounds
With pink insulation
To stop the bleeding, thinking,
And to absorb the tears. 

It's so hot. 
Dark. 
Damp. 
Empty. 
I lose track of 
The days, hours, and seconds. 

So hopeless. 

In this process of digestion,
I can only be saved by
A finger down the throat,
Or a knife to the stomach. 

No comments:

Post a Comment