Gross

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It was simple
Cutting from her sternum downwards
Her skin peeled backwards

Beneath the first few layers was
A thin envelope of membrane
But then out toppled her organs

Funny, how little blood there was
Just solid matter that left trails of redness
On my palms and wrists; I extracted.

I traced her ribcage with my fingernails
And they scraped, shredded bone
Lodged underneath like dirt

I filled her back up with better things
Like Strawberry lemonade and
Boysenberry pancakes and daisies.

But she kept screaming, like I
Wasn’t doing her a favor.
Like I wasn’t saving her.

But then she stopped screaming.
Somewhere between the nineteen stitches
It took to sew her back up.

It’s OK. She’s happier now.
After all, love heals all wounds.





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