bile rises to the top of my throat
nails scratching at unblemished skin
red streaks fade to white
hyperventilating,
quick and unsteady
knock back sleeping pills but still not asleep
more and more and more and more until

put me on a surgical table
you wont be able to find whats wrong until you dissect my brain
gray matter twisted and poisoned
corrupted by irrationality
fake eyes stare blankly at the bright ceiling lights
awake as you slide the scalpel
sensual as you smoothly cut me open
i wonder what it feels like
to handle a dead body with such care
your gloved fingers are gentle against my dead skin
my brain is in a jar
test subject #2999
the only thing i ever accomplish is in death