by Nick Gisburne
They killed me, for the body, for the brain.
For everything I was they took my life.
But now, beyond that avalanche of pain,
I wake to see a surgeon, with a knife.
Ferocious, I am quick to crush her throat.
A terrified assistant screams, in shock.
It seems that murder wasn’t all she wrote
When borrowed time was added to my clock.
The power of these hands is not my own;
I stand inside a shell of metal skin.
Beyond it, me, my body, flesh and bone.
I stagger as my vision starts to spin.
Awake, restrained, my mind no longer whole,
My captors, far more cautious, take control.
