Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ruheen Aug 2019
You wash out the bodies
Hang up on a line
Pin 'em up so very high
And wait for the blood to dry

Iron them out
Straight as can be
Rough, but smooth
Not a wrinkle, or crease

Grab your knife
And cut it up
See the results
They should be enough

Now, fold them up
And pack away
Lock the doors
To keep 'em safe
I swear I'm crazy. I just compared dead bodies to clothes. *shudder*
Sabila Siddiqui Aug 2018
You notice the
bruises of many hues
painted across the ****** canvas
reflecting through the shade of mood.

You ask what happened?
But this question
would require me to break open the surface;
permeate my skin
for you to dissect,
explore the source
analyse and
do the autopsy of my past.

But I am not ready to show you
more than the bleed
that is close to the surface
threatening to break.
maledimiele Apr 2018
Your soft skin is pale and transparent
A no longer beating heart is portruding as if it was so to say: let me finish this.
There wasn’t a chance to finish, you left undone
Your skin still so translucent and clear
Your blue lips sealed as if they were to say: Please be gentle.
You shot yourself in the chest so that your face will remain beautiful
And yes – you’re beautiful as you’re lying there on a cold metal table
Soon scissors and knives will rip open your abdomen and examine what you left behind
Maybe your liver will tell them the stories of how we met at a bar and how you loved drinking too much wine
Maybe your lungs will reveal that – sometimes, when you were mad at me – you smoked cigarettes
Maybe your mouth will speak about that one time we kissed at the cinema for the whole film
Maybe they will forcefully open your eyes to see if you’re still watching
I hope that when they sew you up again, they’ll leave a tiny crack in your chest for your soul to leave
Let it fly out the window and watch sunsets with me

Yesterday I had someone clean your room
The police came and took some things with them
They took your suicide note with them, for the file they say
You’re a file now
They asked about the ****** blanket
And I told them you wrapped yourself into it so that your ****** torso wont make a mess
Which is kind of funny because the mess really just started when they took the blanket and left me there, alone, in an empty room.
Anthony Perry Jul 2017
My poetry is open and bare on the examination table
While my brain falls into place in the exsanguination cradle
Pieces fit together like a monster from the old world fables
Set up to disassociate the Cains from the Ables

We're all meant to die
There's no harm in asking why
Self harm, drugs left in the arms, premeditation, self incrimination
It won't matter when we're stitched up in a Y

Theres hidden meanings in every line
A chance to put aside all the woes and keep feelings burning inside
When things are on the decline
I can write down facts and theories
Like self investigation as to why I'm feeling weary
No Overbearing intoxication here just a rough cut heart of ice melting due to overheating and slipping liquidation
Swords and Roses Nov 2015
I walk into a hospital and the hospital is a graveyard. A doctor stands with his back to me, performing a ballet autopsy on a bluish barbarian. A single salty droplet falls from the  bluish barbarian's head and there is a tremor in his hand. "He is alive" I whisper. "Stop doctor, stop," I say but the doctor doesn't listen. I keep shouting louder and louder until I am making a huge racket. A skeleton nurse shushes me. I scream and the doctor jerks, his graceful movements broken. He turns to me and his glacial eyes take over my mind, stripping away my layers until I am barren, exposed. He speaks but his voice is a wolf's voice. A wolf's voice isn't like a human voice, it is *******, harsh. "Look what you've done" he growls. "Now it's impure. It's weak." I watch as the bluish barbarian becomes dozens of tiny screaming beetles. Then he is dust and the graveyard is an urban labyrinth. "You stupid thing," says the doctor but the doctor is now an ant. I laugh and walk into the labyrinth but the doctor-ant follows me. "Shut up" I say and I laugh and I cough and I walk into the phlebotomy lab and break my skull on a glove. "I told you" says the ant and it walks away and I cry.
A prime example of why you shouldn't let me near word generators.
Haidyn Apr 2015
If I had an autopsy,
I fear that my heart
would be too heavy
to hold.
For it is filled
with raw emotions
and it weighs my chest down
with every last breath.
Randi G Dec 2014
i want you to rip off my skin
and lay waste to my sin
pick of my insecurities
peel back my sorrows
peek inside my secrets
and maybe then
i’ll let you in

*(r.e.)
Damien Ark Sep 2014
Bug eye iodine bathing hydroxide tye
Cold floor tidal wave freezing covers
No sleep for the mattress on fire
Rotunda over molesting sun father
Melts skin like bleached pores
Chemical dye drips down broken spine
Her beautiful dead eyes on the wet cutting table
A shower head slowly needles her blood away
To reveal the stiff antler like puffed body binded
Bombed burst into her skull into her retinas
That hold infinite numbers, infinite white and black
Desolated corn roads littered with used stakes
Channel the energy fleeting from the body
I capture its scent and cry for lobotomy

— The End —