I’ve died a time or two
and had men try to make me new.
I’ve had my body dug up
by shovels and hands cut.
I’ve been sprawled out
laid down and washed about.
I’ve had tissue excised
burnt around the edges and cauterized.
I’ve been bled dry
left in the sun and putrefied.

I’ve been patched up
glued together and stapled shut.
I’ve had my hair brushed
face painted and voice hushed.
I’ve been gently dressed
socks clean and dress pressed.
I’ve had a role to play
lacking dialogue and out of the way.
I’ve been the perfect date
unnatural but one you chose to create.