Best Autopsy Poems
"The Autopsy"
They wheeled his body into the room.
Covered with a clean white sheet.
The doctors were methodical,
yet at the same time quite discreet.
They studied it in sections, one area at a time.
and although their search was thorough,
there were a few things they could not find.
They couldn't find the memory of the one he loved so dear,
and they couldn't find the passion that he felt when she was near.
They couldn't find his pride, or the bounce within his step.
Though the smile he had when he saw her hasn't left him yet.
And they couldn't find the pleasure that he felt year after year.
And if they searched his entire body they would never find it there.
Yes the body was being studied to try and find a clue.
Why his life had ended early, why his life on earth was through.
The doctors with all their training didn't know where to start.
For they couldn't have known she left him .........
and he died from a broken heart.
>>
I paint pictures with Words
calbambi@gmail.com
Categories:
autopsy, love,
Form:
Rhyme
they peel back my skin
like old wallpaper,
the stink rising
as the organs, bruised and bloated,
spill out like forgotten secrets.
the saw hums,
cutting through bone like butter,
the ribs cracking open
to a cold, fluorescent light
that never flinches.
the heart, heavy, useless now,
is weighed and tossed aside,
just another lump of meat
in a world that’s always hungry
for the next hollow thing.
looking down on what's left of me,
I turn in dicust
having to do this sll over again.
Categories:
autopsy, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
I cannot love you.
At least, not anymore.
If even there was ever love left in the cacophony
Behind my burning eyelids,
The osseous cavity that I emptied
Out like bathwater into the sea.
I am not who I was.
I am not okay with what I have become.
I drug along every mistake I made,
Salted the wounds,
And buried myself in them for days.
I cannot walk away.
I cannot love you because I am not sure
I will be here for you in the days to come.
I am not sure I deserve the body I bruised—
The rib cage pried open so I could reach my arms through.
Certainly I do not deserve you.
The scars I forged will mean something again some day,
But they are not for you;
They are mine alone to answer to.
They cleanse me like antiseptic through a metal sieve;
If I don't make it back,
Then I don't get to live.
Categories:
autopsy, death, future, heart, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
Autopsy of someone I used to know
Im staring at the figure of someone I have forgotten to know
She wears her hair down
And her wide eyes stare at mine.
She looks a lot like me, she has the same grimace, the same gaze.
Even our facial expressions are the exact same.
But there’s something different about this woman staring at me,
her smile only escapes occasionally.
The light within her doesn’t shine bright anymore.
It’s like the more she gives away, the more she begins to fade.
Captivated am I, how she can remain so calm, so selfless.
In the face of such dismay.
She tries to hide her pain with what’s left of her smile.
Her laughter covers the darkness that lingers in her mind.
The dark brusies hidden so carefully under her sweatshirt
show her strength, and her ability to move on to another day.
Underneath the bruises lies a beautiful, small framed body.
Blood flows within her bones, and freckles trace from the tip of her nose down to her toes.
She’s beautiful in her own way,
You wouldn’t have any idea
That she had any troubles or pain.
I look back at the girl and I realize she’s not standing there anymore.
All that’s left of her is a reflection in the mirror, she’s gone; disappeared.
Categories:
autopsy, image, me,
Form:
Imam Hassan.
Bruce lee.
Eva braun.
Georgi markov.
Theodore romzha.
Valterovich litvinenko.
Mahendra Tripathi.
Yogendra sony.
Steve clayton.
Mary yoder.
Stacy robinson.
Note. It is to be said that harshad mehta was Poisoned in jail.
Categories:
autopsy, body, drug, food, funeral,
Form:
List
AUTOPSY OF A FEMININE
Femme fa-tale
Spoken from the lips of modesty
But wondrous to those that thrives on ego
Known bearer of a continuous sequel of generations
As some reflect, a borne to desire
And to most; you cannot do without
The vast calls them the specie of tenderness
Also an attractive life path to all serenity
A domain to conquer, to love and accept
The Feminine,
Creatures of the heart!
INSPIRED FROM MY MALE POINT OF VEIW. 22ND SEP 07
Categories:
autopsy, woman,
Form:
Narrative
Autopsy
My words are my scalpel
My incision precise
My organs are splayed
My veins bleed ice
My mind is the blade
My eyes the knife
The light there fades
My treatise to entice
My screams are swallowed
By the empty abyss
My Heart is hollowed
My smile betrays bliss
In utterance I wallow
My pain I kiss
My soul is sallow
My flesh bruised by fist
My whispers like gallows
My mind to dismiss
My soul exposed
Under the tissue unbound
The words are posed
To uncover or confound
Categories:
autopsy, conflict,
Form:
Rhyme
I wonder what they'll learn of me
After a thorough autopsy,
Once my thoughts stop mattering,
And decay takes everything.
I wonder what or if they'll regret,
I wonder if they feel guilty yet.
How much is a human life,
What's the worth of writhing strife?
Can you put a price tag on them?
Can you pretend that we're all gems?
I wonder if my mind will travel,
Once I'm 6 feet beneath gravel,
I wonder if my energy,
Will disperse, unravel me.
I wonder if I'm wondering,
Or subconsciously planning
To have myself cease to exist,
But add my heart to the next list.
Drop me off inside a human,
That is friends with just a few men,
Take away all of my fires,
Let them bathe with my desires.
Categories:
autopsy, death, deep, earth, future,
Form:
Lyric
The Amourette Autopsy
In vesper’s curt caress there seems no bind
To daylight’s brim or morning’s dire decree-
Your vertigo embrace confounded vows,
Within a steel wheeled cauldron we stirred swamps
We hyperventilated hurricanes
Cajoled embraces, arrogated from
your groom and registry and welling eyes;
Celestial bliss, we buzzed God's prayer vault.
We even deemed the telescopic murk
a trough where genuflections might could reach;
You spun away to opium dens, supine,
I could not trace Icarian designs.
You tiptoed the obituary scene
Without your leaving even a toe’s wake-
But in your swirl you must have slipped but once
in its ambitious, enterprising ink.
Oh butterfly why you abjured your wings,
Regressed to the cocoon womb’s staid address?
I wish I could interrogate your wraith
by dream, concussion, disembodiment.
Enraptured by your sallow soft trained tress-
drapes gaped to manifest seraphic tones
of fairness, though distraught by varying hues
that sapience esteems the bends of life
Categories:
autopsy, addiction, bereavement, dark, death,
Form:
Blank verse
I might self-destruct at any minute
tick tick
boom goes the dynamite
it’s suppression
confusion
so tangled i can’t even put it into
words
What a tangled web i weave.
Or we weave.
Is it you or i at fault?
it’s just that i am sensitive
to things (under)
the surface
a pulse of a real conversation
inside the rhythm of our idle chatter
but like the tides, um friend
i roll with the moon
and when I want to flow out
you? moon? pull me back into the strands
of Um Friendship.
So “where is this going?”
I want to shout
WHERE IS THIS GOING?
but “the rules”
and fear
keep me tied to the beach
prey for the black widow ex
and things that go bump in the night
like kisses
and caresses
and smiles
and going with the flow
means facing those things again
and I don’t know if I can.
And I don’t know if you know if you can
Are you trapped with me
in the shadows
of the moonlight....
....or do I stand alone?
That is all I want to know, um friend.
I pretend I don’t care
or that I don’t think about these things..but...
When “going with the flow”
means swinging between heaven and hell
from second to second
rolling tides
sticky web strings
real conversations?
Are you with me?
WHERE IS THIS GOING?
(do I want to know?)
Categories:
autopsy, confusion, friendship, girlfriend-boyfriendme, me,
Form:
Free verse
Fomented cycles
address only lonely lips
kiss free denials
Categories:
autopsy, angst, anxiety, betrayal, conflict,
Form:
Haiku
& death swallowed my grandmother when i was twelve.
there are some memories that hunt you while asleep
& some spill goosebumps on the fabric of your skin.
i lost count of the nights i pour tears out my eyes,
there were days i keep my fingers steady in the family gallery.
i listened to your voice breaking through the cracked walls,
you lit candles & placed them in the middle of your room,
& then drag silence in your chest &
spoke in tongues and scream at God to keep me safe.
when my scars developed into a city,
with dimmed lights & wrecked lanes,
you ironed smiles on your lips and still kiss me on the forehead.
how do i tell these stories of how your body spent days wearing off its texture from rotten scars?
the dark rooms here still hold your photograph,
the piano in the parlor eats dust
it must have thought about you & felt bored, too.
By: Aloysius S. Harmon is still struggling to beco
aloysius is a Liberian writer and a poet or sunflower.
Categories:
autopsy, death, dedication, deep, depression,
Form:
Free verse
Autopsy of a Bitter Heart
My thoughts vomited upon the page.
No rhyme, no reason, no beauty;
Raw, bare muscle and torn flesh.
No cute love hearts colored red and pink;
No, this is the heart of human anatomy.
The heart bared with a “Y” incision on a stark, cold, metal table.
The heart that glistens with swollen purple veins and arteries that pulse with black blood. Chest torn asunder with metal hands. The white of rib bones broken like twigs, leaking viscous blood and bile.
The autopsy will not locate the cause of the death of My soul, the death of My innocence and flowery poetic phrases.
Murder committed with words and indifference leave no physical marks.
The scars are there, wherever the soul resides…the mind, the heart, the bowels. The scars are there and they build atop of one another until my soul has its armor.
Armored with tough, white ropes of healing flesh…shrouded with remembered pain.
It's not pretty. It's not rhythmic and metered...
No flowers here, only weeds and poisoned leaves.
Words laced with the taint of bitter arsenic…foaming from a perverse choking throat.
I vomit this bitterness on the parchment…leaving me empty and new.
Categories:
autopsy, feelings, heart, hurt, murder,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Staining the floor with her shards
and slicing the hands of the coroner
the broken doll rests in pieces.
Her etched face glances skywards
her beaded eyes trapped staring into the sun.
“Pushed too far,” the coroner says.
Porcelain women weep at the side of the autopsy table.
“Bury the fragments,” the coroner says, the coroner says.
His words move on
but the mourners never will.
He moves on to the next case
but the mourners never will.
He moves on.
But the mourners never will.
Categories:
autopsy, angst,
Form:
Free verse
The Autopsy
This is a good day cold but with sunshine
and hard soil which with a mechanical digger
is easy to open for a newly dead
When a patient dies, he/she is sent down
to the doctor in the basement who do the autopsy
he speaks into a mike takes pictures writes a report.
The doctor in question is obese, smoke cigarettes
when on his breaks, is straight out of a crime novel
written by Mike Spillane
This is a good day with sunlight and hard soil but
there will be no funeral today.
Categories:
autopsy, beach, best friend, blessing,
Form:
Blank verse