market
from inside the display case i croon,
beckon,
beg.
have a look, won't you?
here's my ribs; all lined up neatly
one-by-one
take a lung, won't you? i don't need it anyways.
my hands? just take them
there's no use for them
now,
have a taste, won't you? i'll give you a slice, from my cheek, thigh, breast
take your pick
if you don't like it, you can just spit it out; no need to keep me, keep it
don't keep it.
i'll give you better.
how about my teeth? all arranged nicely
or how about my limbs? my digits? i've arranged them alphabetically,
just for you.
my veins are yours if you want them; i don't use them anymore, they're empty
nothing left to carry, nothing left to deliver.
take your pick, i croon, beckon,
beg.