sterling poems

when i was 16,

i check off that little box in the DMV

hoping that when im gone,

they will find some use for my flesh

beyond what shallow things i have done with it.

the day i die 

they will cut me open

they will search my corpse for something

they could use to save someone else.

they will look at my blackened lungs and say,

this one was a smoker, nothing good here.

next, they will look at my stained liver and say,

this one drank far to much, 

how can someone have so many sorrows to drown?

then they will look at my heart,

still fighting to flow blood through my veins,

and then they will say,

this one loved far too much far too many times,

this heart has cracked and broken,

it is beyond repair,

we have no use for it any more.

i doubt this one got much good out of it anyway.