Harvest

Victims scream,
their howls echo behind shattered teeth,
saliva spills over their gags and tears stain their cheeks.

Serrated knives find soft, exposed stomachs in vulgar thrusts.
Strapped to cold gurneys, patients thrash and convulse,
blood sprays over the walls and leaves smears on white doctor coats.

Crimson fluid coagulates in the cracks of the tile floor,
it rolls over the metal table like quicksilver and pools at dead feet.

Brittle bones cave beneath pressure,
they snap and spill marrow into veins.
The doctors dive in, bone saws roaring and scissors snipping,
they dig deep through exposed meat,
and close gloved fingers on pulpy masses,
ripping organs free in gushes of life blood and torrents of tortured screams.

Like fruit from the garden of raw nerves and cells,
they harvest their crop and leave the host to shrivel and die
beneath the harsh fluorescent sun.