How will you find yourself?


By Christopher Michael Carter


Death – a science project
Frogs on a cold table
The life — a new born chaos
Tornado of wreckage
Spinning across a blistering desert
Of the land of the lost
Are you the boss?
If not, your loss
My dreadful words to the world I toss
I paint inside
Something you’ll never find
In autopsy
And I sculpt outside
Something you’ll never believe
Believe in me
And my self-autopsy
I can’t hide
So I dig down inside
Up to my knees I find
And I dig with a shovel called my life
The dirt, mud, and soil coat it so I see no light
Open me
Free me
But respect me
And my self-autopsy
Everybody has that someone else inside
That always has to surface when there’s nothing left to hide
And I will find mine
Will find me
In autopsy 

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