Aorta tightening, twisting and turning.

bile squirting across the room, painting the furniture a vomit-green, as i felt you

cartwheel right through me.

down my esophagus, into my stomach and through my small intestine.

eerily peeking out of my

flank, my lungs exploded to the roaring silence that followed your leaving.

guts spilled– stomach lining and intestinal tissue wedged into the cavity where my

heart once was. now, my once-pulsating muscle beats softly as blood oozes, pooling onto the floor.

iridescent irises falling out of my skull and onto your bare palms. but you were too busy tying my

jugular into a pretty pink bow, so you let them fall and fall and fall and they hit my

kidneys and collide into my

liver and into a billion pieces.

my organs lay in a pile on your bedroom floor–

nose, nipples, navel and all.

on your bed where we once found sanctity, my

pancreas starts to decompose, staining your sheets a smelly yellow.

quietly, my remains whisper, inviting me to lay down.

readjusting my muscles, and wrapping my

skin around my bare bones, as i

tell you that my organs still belonged to you.

u smiled, kissed my uterus, my ovaries, and my

vulva and walked away.

we never saw each other again, but if someone shoved my organs into an

x-ray, they would see your imprints on me.

your hands wrapped in mine,

zealous for my veins and capillaries.