I. Overexposed
Lying exposed in the fluorescent box
Surgical paper crinkles against my back
Impersonal hands press soft tissue
Those intimate parts of me no one is supposed to touch
Inhale, she says, I breathe in hand sanitizer aroma
Exhale, she says, I breathe out the sterile remains
Removes the ice metal from my ribs, the signal of the end
Put on my shirt and I'm no longer a lab specimen
They call a "patient".