Toe Tag
Here I lie in this cooler, this fridge where I would rather not be, but the truth of the matter is you’ve done it, you got the best of me
I lasted as long as I could, and I put up a good fight, but I wasn’t strong enough to withstand the darkness and you were immune to my light
I now rest in another type of morgue but truthfully, I still feel the same, it’s just as cold here as your heart is that once beat out my name
At least I am wanted here, and someone will place their hands upon me, not in a way that a lover would do only clinically
But beggars can’t be choosers and honestly, I have no right, it’s my own fault that I am lying here on this cold slab in the dark praying to see the light
I trusted in you never believing that you would be the death of me, but here I lie all alone just awaiting my own autopsy
Waiting for another’s hands to graze against my skin, and touch me almost as tenderly as you my love once did
At least I won’t have to worry about things like dignity, who cares if the last person that touches me is someone, I never shared a word with while I was living
At least they will treat me like a human, like I’m something to be cared for, and not just leave my body lying wilted and for dead upon a cold, hard floor
Who knows they may even talk to me possibly ask me what happened to this girl upon their table, knowing that I am unable to answer them they're just trying to be respectful
When they dissect me, and they dig into the depths of me, I wonder if my inner scars will show all the punishment that from you, I received
The lungs that have no air left within them to help me breathe, because you took my last breath, my soul, everything inside of me
Will they remove the stomach next, the place where the butterflies once roamed? Will there be traces there left of their flutters, that are now entombed in stone
Or will it be my heart, the organ that you pierced a knife into? Will they pull it out of me and give it back as a trophy for you
Will my brain be next, the piece that holds every solitary memory of you and I, or will it be my eyes that are taken next, glazed over with a snapshot of your face as you plunged in the knife
Will they next drain me of the blood that once ran through my veins, and sew me up so delicately without a stitch out of place
And when they write up their report depicting the cause of the death of me, will it be homicide or heartbreak my love, you tell me?
I will then be given my toe tag depicting who it was that once resided within this shell, and then they will close the door on me once again confining me to my own refrigerated cell
Until they are ready for the burial of the girl that I used to be, and my soul it no longer resides within her it has found its peace
So, my love, remember me as you read my name there on my headstone, and next time that you think about loving someone please for the sake of my memory just leave them alone.
Copyright ©
Amanda Kinzer
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