Perfect Murder

 

 

On a clinical hospital bench,

I sat waiting,

For the end,

To begin,

An all pervading antiseptic odor

Not worse than the smell

Of death,

A genetic movement in my womb,

A chance for me to play

God,

To roll the dice,

As I was wheeled in,

Sodium Penthonal

The perfect deliverer from torture,

Anesthesia

A trip to no man’s land,

Will I be back?

I don’t know,

Do I care?

Yes,

I haven’t drowned in the mystery of your eyes,

Or seen the first snow flake of this winter.

A scalpel that scrapped my inner lining,

But refused to erode my spirit,

Some blood, some tissue and no concern

Were emptied

From one vessel to another,

Living to stainless steel.

A journey,

From conception to death,

I looked closely at the mass,

Trying to find me,

It is a lie,

There is nothing of me

For I don’t die easily.

But…

This was a perfect murder.

Groggily I walk out

The sun’s rays hitting me,

And I wonder,

Why sodium penthonal is always not available/