I want a spoon,
sturdy enough to scoop your eyeball out of its socket.
Maybe
you would see opportunity rotting.

I want a knife,
sharp enough to slice off your ear.
Maybe
you would hear the love you forsake.

I want a fork,
long enough to stab in between your ribs
and perforate one lung.
Maybe
you would feel breathless
and face your pain.

I want a surgeon,
and I want a chef-
to remove your liver,
serve you on a porcelain plate.
Maybe
you would taste how foul you have become.
-
I don't want to bury you too.