The Autopsy

Unable to see. Unable to breath.

The cold metal table bringing a chill to my bones

I felt the sharp tool piercing my skin

Slowing gliding its way through my body

The pain making me cry out

Yet nothing is heard

I start to question why

Why can’t I move?

Why can’t I speak?

Why can’t I tell them to stop?

Why can’t they see I am still alive?