new bones

 

  Hey,

  we’ve got some new bones here,

  wheel him on in and

  get that saw spinning

do they not know that

I’m not really dead yet,

who scheduled this autopsy,

and how did I get so naked

why can’t I scream while they’re

pulling me apart, while they’re

weighing every thought I have and

measuring every ounce of worth

they will drain me, separate me

place pieces of me into little jars

one eye forever floating above

half a brain and a pointless finger

  “Hey, I’m still alive here,

  leave me the fuck alone

  and let me figure all this out,

  I’m not ready to be looked at yet”

(Autopsy of The Soul, by Vincent Castiglia on darkartandcraft.com)