This a poem i wrote becasue i was thinking about how hard it is to write romantic poetry because of all the cliches involved. You know, the usual culprits: hearts, eyes, lips, walks by rivers, etc, etc.

So this is my vague attempt to (and i apologise in advance for using this word) 'subvert' that style.

Autopsy

My heart

Doesn't beat

Doesn't sing

Doesn't somersault

Doesn't leap into my mouth

To sit full on my tongue

Doesn't fend off wayward butterflies

Mislaid from my stomach

Doesn't conduct a heated discourse with my head

Over shared responsibility

Doesn't measure out my remaining days

In clockmaker throbs

Doesn't turn to stone

To fill my chest with pebbles

Doesn't break

Doesn't do clichés

Or duets

It just pushes sluggish blood

Through ungrateful veins

Hopes against coronary disease

And forgets you.