They call me Mr.Cadaver
Dead,yet living in hospitals
And schools where they teach how to become doctors
Oh!Doctors My only true lover

I died of a natural disease
You know,the one where you constantly sneeze
Too poor to be buried
Too poor to be burned
So I was embalmed
In certain chemicals
Formaldehyde,then frozen
And in this form turned

It wasn't easy at first
Young eyes looking at me suspiciously
The weak-hearted watching disgustedly
But as time(I have much of it)
Went by I got used to it

I was dissected by stainless steel
So that they could learn how to heal
These various tissues,body parts well
I knew my worth when departed

I was a precise model
Of a living person
With my help
So many learnt

Basic human anatomy
Which vein goes where
Where lies the spleen
So whenever you are on the hospital bed
Remember
My death gave another life to thee

They sell me for many a dollar
To the blue-eyed scholar
And I will become his loyal friend
I may look creepy
But that's just because I'm dead

The teacher points to various places
On me , sometimes I feel a little ticklish
But I a satisfied by the curious eyes
Who are learning about me for your benefit


And when the session expires
My second life,it must retire
But they extract my bones
Put the skeletal frame in a museum
Or break it into pieces
And give it to students of various fields
The dentists want the cranium
I'm bloodless
Anatomy's life bood

So bow down to me
Ye first year students
I taught Da Vinci how to draw a man
Taught Michaelangelo how to sculpt
From Ancient Greece to modern medicine
My death has given life to many humans

Another day, another hour spent looking at cadavers,
Surprisingly fun, and suspiciously fresh bodies-
"Hey Mrs. Johnson, what do you think John did with his life?"
She gave me a look that didn't seem too pleased at my inquisition.
Or the fact that I named our body John.
Morbidly, I thought she looked at me like a zombie would look at our friend John like a cold cut subway sandwich,
Although I figured if I were a zombie,
I'd prefer my meat fresh, and not embalmed
with formaldehydes and ethanol.
"That thought seems inappropriate and not respectful of the medical sacrifice 'john' made " she said dripping with in my opinion too much sarcasm for me to NOT respond too.
"Well, John is dead, I don't think he's getting offended anytime soon," I retorted.
Her smile contorted like the prudish smile John offered me in support.
"I'm not worried about offending the corpse as much as I am the ghost, and this Lab will NOT be haunted under my watch"
(Her pride in her wit inflated much like Johns body inflated with decomposition and bowel gases.)
I apologized internally for the comment and action  I was about to make-
"This medical dictatorship has to collapse sooner or later-
and I still want an answer too my question"
And with that,
I took the nearest scalpel to his bloated stomach,
and watched in disgust and glee as everyone else ran for cover amongst the ****** of stomach contents and Johns final retribution in death.
I got an A+ in that class.

people always describe it as an "empty pit"
but that's just not true.
in essence, what it is,
is hunger.
the starvation of meaning,
and the force fed nature of depression.
it's bulimic in urge.
binge on cutting myself,
to purge myself of feeling.
it's always described as suppressing.
when,
in actuality it's just hopeless.
it's despair.
in the same way my dirt hued eyes won't make up
for the cracks formed from
the nights spent crying-
and
too many hailstorms.

In the bar where sad things grow,
           Where(s) Happiness(?),
is pumped in Like champagne through IV.
I-found-us-strung-together-again-
          “ Now
I’m the type of person
                                 to-
                         fall-
**** near in love with gratitude. ”
“ Like that glancing smile,
Hidden behind a mask of bourbon and-
all ten hail marys you replaced
                 with ****** ones. ”
“ And if gratitude gets you this far?
Just imagine what the *** is like. ”

I’ve played the scene in my head-
Like the director's cut of his wife’s affair.
The bitterness of the metal,
The poisonous lead.
The expense of myself-
In a waste of pain.
Suicide isn’t the only answer,
It’s just the best option
Out of a cesspool of ****** ones.
Don’t tell me you’ll miss me if i’m dead-
When you won’t talk to me if I'm alive.