- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Flatline
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beat...beat...silence
defeaning
is it the theoretical heart or the organ
my insides consumed by decay
it's not the organ
I still move...still breath
but it aches
the smile, faulty
the mask pleading to crack
blackness desperate for light
hear my call
no...not a call
a scream
gut-wrenching
I'm running on a theoretical flatline
the organ runs the body
the heart rules the rest
one dies
you die
the other...your soul
I'm open, vulnerable
yet caged
I feel it sliding up my arms...the numbness
my heart's breaking
and I wonder
how many times will my heart break before it shatters?
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