A clean break,
you said.
It will be better
this way,
you said.
A hollow laugh
escaped my pale
lips.

So why not take
my frail, aged bones
and give them a
clean
break as well?
I tried to phone the
doctor, to ask
him his
professional opinion on the
matter,
but he’s gone away
on holiday.
He’s experimenting
with the effects of
gamma rays on the
human heart.

So why won’t you
take my bones in your
fists and grind them
into a fine powder?
So why don’t you
keep me in a jar,
on your shelf,
as a prize waiting to be won.