When you go to hell, be sure to pack a sweater.

If I were a cadaver and some eager medical student were slicing open my torso,
they would be surprised.
They would wonder how I looked so flush when the blood in my veins was still, stagnant,
with nothing to pump it through
To the liver and lung and bowel and sinew, the ones that I give to you,
because they are what's left.
And since they serve no function in this hollow, stuffed (wo)man who cannot bleed,
who got cut too deep,
Why don't you toss them aside on some highway or alleyway or playground,
so the birds can have a nibble,
Just like I could throw you aside, you and everyone else that passes by,
without a second glance
And I'll stitch myself up (very slender without all those pesky organs) and keep walking,
looking like I have the ability to care.