Nightmares are best served cold
on slabs of stainless steel.

Organs that take too long
to degenerate in life
rot too quickly in death
(even after a liberal dousing
of isochloryl methylhydrate).

Nightmares are best served cold.

Following botched tracheotomies,
vigorous massage,
and chilled epinephrine
breaching the ribcage,

"I'm breathless..."

Fluids drained
through stainless steel gutters,
strained through filters,
and collected.

The neurochemistry...

A cocktail, served cold
in a beaker of crushed ice.
"This is love," she says,
sipping yellow fluid.
"Or it was. Once."