You laid me bare
On that hard, metal table,
Ripe for the dissection.
Cold metal chimes pure, high notes
As you move the tray of bright, clean, utensils.
Each with its own design,
To cut, pry and remove.
The anaesthetic dream
Keeps me suspended, yet alert enough
To watch your movements,
As the blade lowers
And my flesh parts.

You systematically change me,
Replace my vitals,
With something more to your liking.
Not a hint,
Nor a suggestion
Of anything of consequence
In your eyes.
No tiny acre of soul
Lets me know that this hurts you,
No reluctance in your hand,
Even through my winced arches.
I watch the transformation,
Before the bloom of my bloodied chest.
My heart is now a monitor,
That can be viewed and analysed.
Over a clipboard,
Eyes over glasses,
Tsk tsk tsk.
Just as you always suspected.
Your self-fulfilling prophecy,
Your light burning bright
With the pungent gas of the accused.

My limbs now do your bidding,
At the flick of a switched tongue.
Sending me where you will.
My mind now on hard, immovable tracks
Where my free will sits strapped,
Tied and tormented.
Feeling the vibrations of the coming train.
My eyes feel different now,
I see only your angles, the right angles,
That's all this new periphery allows.

But oh, my dear monster,
In the switching of parts,
In the molding of this ideal shape,
This controlled facsimile...
There was a precise moment
When I was lost.
An incision that removed the last
Whisper of my being.
My final state, in pieces on trays,
In pools on the floor,
In the stains on your hands.
While your creation is a mannequin,
And nothing more.
But a chance for you,
To enjoy your own company.

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