Tragedy
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