I am lying on my autopsy table finally numb in gentle apathy.
Doctors find me at last, hollowed and stable
as my body slumbers in atrophy.
I am cut open, from temple to chin and bright as I burned, bitter I bled.
To reforge beautiful, broken, scarring skin
stitch by stitch, a mosaic for the dead.
No, nobody hears the singing bones No, nobody sees the crying ghost And everyone thinks I’m all alone.
All alone, all alone, nothing but a host.
I am lying on my autopsy table
I hope to wake, if only I’m still able.
Cathy Shang is a junior studying in Shanghai. She enjoys creating digital art and animations and is very active in parliamentary debate.