through the numbness i hear the echoes
of sentience— some cranial birdsong
whistling in-between gyri,
clinging to that sappy scalpel-ed fat,
a controlled blade bludgeoning that
poked and prodded until oozing
bloodslush gushed out, small black spillage,
smudging that hemorrhage with latexed hands,
desperately clipping back veins.

there is crimson everywhere: hemoglobin splattered
on my dressing gown. i can’t look at myself
without becoming pigeon-holed,
my tightening trachea & pinched nerves
as bones itch to tear from tendons,
no matter how much flesh they take with them.
             my insides want out,
             to be conjoined again.
             there is a kind of retching happening within me,
             but i can’t seem to spit up any bile.
             it just sits there,
             restful in my swamp of a stomach.