Biolodgy

Poor lonely eyes,
Cold dead flesh,
Reminds me of my dear pet,
Steel, icy cold against my palm,
I can't do it,
I can't bear to tear it open,
I understand it's dead,
But look at it,
It has a heart,
And feelings (once)
It should be burried,
Not here,
Lay across the concrete lab bench,
Sick to my stomach,
Officially vegetarian.

poem by Dyllan Martin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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