I can’t feel my heart.

It’s twisting, crumbling,

Like parched ground,

Like hardened shit

Sharp and abrasive.

Turn me inside out,

Take a scalpel and run

A thin red line across my gut,

Take your calipers and split

My bones apart.

Hear the dull crunch,

Of metal on bone,

The noise of noiseless dust

Falling through the cavity;

Becoming me.

I recognize why I see the darkness,

I reach towards my eyes

And feel the inches of pus,

Like rings on a tree,

Measure the years of my emptiness.