Tragedy

By N.C. Whitehead

she unceremoniously slit me open
as I stared up blankly,
a dull sheen in my eyes

she cut to expose bright red flesh,
the curtains she pulled back
to see the show of my organs

first act were my intestines,
many warriors intertwined
in an epic battle

second act was my heart,
pretending to cry
as blood ran from wet clumps of fat

finally, the grand finale,
my stomach, the dying actress,
burned with the fire of poison

"Overdose," she said
as she critiqued the situation,
scribbling notes for her review

she closed me up,
and I knew the production
had just begun for me

from cold formaldehyde stares
to the awed silence of shuffling feet
to a warm reception in a summer church

the final showing was all-consuming
as worms, ravenous fans,
descended upon my body

until only the theater,
the empty shell of my bones
remained to echo the hollow screams
of my soul


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