Stare at you with the

Clinicality in my eyes,

Your anatomy

Spread out before me in splendid

Calamity, the

Damage so graceful, breathtaking,

My face fills with broad

Ivory mirrors. Dying young

Is a martyr's choice.

Eventually, I coaxed your

Cage to acquiesce

And my phalanges fondled your


Black hole, kissed the right ventricle

And loved your despair.

Die young. Your grimace, so grotesque,

Seems to poetic,

Write another love song so you

Won't be missed too much.

Dance, dance with me lover on your

Broken ankle nubs,

Crumble like boulders, avalanche

Down into this white

Padded hot hospital bed. I'll

Stare at you, a deep,

Cold, clinical stare. Scalpel, please.

Die young.