#autopsy - Hello Poetry

I've ripped into my chest, With nails so brittle and torn And scratched out my veins, Carving the rivers of blood Into chasms of red turned still. My wounds would fester, Like lakes buried underground, The pit left inside my heart Became catacombs to climb. Fingers gashed to make space For me to explore my bones, And forever within I could journey Without even making a sound. In time Death will come to find, That its pain is unable to take me. Nothing can surpass my enduring, And I will survive my own autopsy.

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Mar 24

Mar 24, 2026 at 12:01 AM UTC

Charlotte_Coldwell

Fissure

I've ripped into my chest, With nails so brittle and torn And scratched out my veins, Carving the rivers of blood Into chasms of red turned still. My wounds would fester, Like lakes buried underground, The pit left inside my heart Became catacombs to climb. Fingers gashed to make space For me to explore my bones, And forever within I could journey Without even making a sound. In time Death will come to find, That its pain is unable to take me. Nothing can surpass my enduring, And I will survive my own autopsy.

17

They cut me open without a sound My corpse lied there, cold and bound Inside was a black hole filled with secrets They called to the people I’ve hurt like a beacon They’ll find a borrowed heart, it was never mine to begin with For it only pumped static through my veins And when they lift out my liver, they can see it was charred by grief of losing a lover They’ll toss out my kidneys, damaged by my deceit My anger was never meant to be sweet I was a sea of innocents turned monsters In all my short years lived, I felt like an imposter To see through my clouded eyes You’d think that I planned my own demise I was torn from the inside out The doctors claimed they’d never seen anything so chaotic So washed out and demonic How sad, I was just a child Still, I lied there White as a ghost I had no recollection of what I hated or loved the most They harvested me, storing my life away inside plastic I think I was meant to be here The morgue is my castle So you see, I was just a body Begging to be somebody To know my life, you’d have to crawl inside my mind You should be wary of the creatures you could find In the end, I was never responsible for what was done to me

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Feb 9, 2021

Feb 9, 2021 at 5:45 PM UTC

ladynightgrief

AUTOPSY.

They cut me open without a sound My corpse lied there, cold and bound Inside was a black hole filled with secrets They called to the people I’ve hurt like a beacon They’ll find a borrowed heart, it was never mine to begin with For it only pumped static through my veins And when they lift out my liver, they can see it was charred by grief of losing a lover They’ll toss out my kidneys, damaged by my deceit My anger was never meant to be sweet I was a sea of innocents turned monsters In all my short years lived, I felt like an imposter To see through my clouded eyes You’d think that I planned my own demise I was torn from the inside out The doctors claimed they’d never seen anything so chaotic So washed out and demonic How sad, I was just a child Still, I lied there White as a ghost I had no recollection of what I hated or loved the most They harvested me, storing my life away inside plastic I think I was meant to be here The morgue is my castle So you see, I was just a body Begging to be somebody To know my life, you’d have to crawl inside my mind You should be wary of the creatures you could find In the end, I was never responsible for what was done to me

28

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

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Aug 20, 2019

Aug 20, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC

Ruheen

Autopsy

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

16

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.

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Aug 20, 2018

Aug 20, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC

SabilaSiddiqui

Bruises

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.

16

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.

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Apr 30, 2018

Apr 30, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC

maledimiele

Autopsy

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.

21

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

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Jul 25, 2017

Jul 25, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC

anthonyasylum

The Autopsy

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

14

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.

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Nov 9, 2015

Nov 9, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC

SwordsandRoses

Dreamscapes

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.

1

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.

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Apr 2, 2015

Apr 2, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC

baidyn

A Heart Is A Heavy Burden

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.

8

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.)

0

Dec 9, 2014

Dec 9, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC

anonymousm8

Autopsy

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.)

8