Originally published March 2006 in "Pray For Me"
A rewrite of "Dissection Day"

Autopsy Queen

when she said she was magic she lied,
and her romance was simply a fable.
she floats in (not heaven) formaldehyde,
cold and grey on the autopsy table.

she opens up to mechanical coils,
not glitter and rainbows and glass.
this fantasy droops and then spoils;
my mind's clear as cyanide gas.

she is no longer miss beauty queen,
she is just a specimen for me to poke
and prod and cut but she does not bleed,
blackened with(out velvet but) smoke.

she was never really filled with magic;
just a clock whispering tic-toc-tic.