Gone into the Mud

If you laid me down and cut me open

Pale skin unfurling into soft petals

If you stick your fingers in between the 

gentle sores of my ribs, prying them apart

You'll find a dark, wet, rotten mess

Hidden so artfully 

Underneath delicate personas

Your scalpel now coated in slime and mold

Dissect my innards

Probe for my beating heart

Tendon, heartstrings, fascia

Gone, gone, gone

Festering spongey landscapes

Go deeper

Knuckles far into the sickening pleasure

Graze my now wilted flowers that found 

My corpse their home

Bath in my unfiltered blood

That once danced through my bones

Now rushing out against my moon

Trudging around in a half circle of spirals

Decapitating my other half

They are

Gone, gone, gone

My anatomy is spoiled

Covered in spots of spores

I may not be immortal but my sorrow will be