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soraya-carpenitoPoems
In the morgue, the aseptic light Was flickering upon it; The livid, bruised, black and blue Lying body of Love. -Honey, It's dead, you see! -Yes, sweetheart, but how did we Come to this? -Pass me the lancet and Then we'll see. A sharp cut was made on The right temporal lobe of the brain; The synaptic membranes were Damaged, the reciprocal nerve-racking Jealousy had made the brain collapse. A big incision was made upon The ribs: into the lungs no more The vital breath of Love, only water And mud were clogging the alveoli. Love had drowned in the sea of adultery. The last deep cut was made upon The heart: the still valves and Ventricles hadn't pumped Blood and passion for long. So, there's nothing else to do, My dead love!
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Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 4:59 PM UTC
Autopsy of a dead Love
In the morgue, the aseptic light Was flickering upon it; The livid, bruised, black and blue Lying body of Love. -Honey, It's dead, you see! -Yes, sweetheart, but how did we Come to this? -Pass me the lancet and Then we'll see. A sharp cut was made on The right temporal lobe of the brain; The synaptic membranes were Damaged, the reciprocal nerve-racking Jealousy had made the brain collapse. A big incision was made upon The ribs: into the lungs no more The vital breath of Love, only water And mud were clogging the alveoli. Love had drowned in the sea of adultery. The last deep cut was made upon The heart: the still valves and Ventricles hadn't pumped Blood and passion for long. So, there's nothing else to do, My dead love!
Written by
soraya-carpenito
Italian
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 4:59 PM UTC
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