Surgery

Uncompromising, the ribs of my chest bend in towards my heart.
Great hole.
So stubborn, I am.
Seeking no help, though I know I need it.
I look down, overlooking the obvious gapping hole.
I peel the skin off my stomach , ripping into the intestines.
Fire against fire?
I am not worthy of the surgery that would save me.
I wouldn't bother the surgeon with it anyway.
She's so happy without me.
I push the intestines into my chest.
Pain into pain?
The double negative theory doesn't apply.
The hole eats without feeling.
I desperately try to fill it, but all I feel falls to that which I wish to know me.
I wouldn't pass on the burden.
I'd rather let the hole consume me than let the surgeon be pained.
I don't have the guts, they are all mangled in my chest.
Even with such huge thoughts, my lungs are compressed too much to speak.
Keeping the joy means keeping silent.
My wish is not worth it.