i filet my heart into two neat pieces.

i poke it softly with my finger

as oil sizzles in the pan.

i’m not wearing gloves.

i gently move my organ

over the bubbling, gurgling steel.

‘i never did get non-stick,’ i think,

and i plop it in.

it screams.

it pinches the air and

rips through my apartment.

if i were still alive,

id be nervous the neighbors would talk.