Final Cut Poem by Ima Ryma

I am walking home late at night.
Suddenly, some men come at me.
I know that something is not right.
They grab onto me forcefully,
And then everything goes black.
When I come to, I am in bed.
On my belly is an icepack.
A sown incision, long and red,
I can see as the pack slips down.
It is all a bad dreamlike state.
Over me, in a mask and gown,
Someone calmly tells me my fate.

They'll keep me alive till they're done,
Harvesting organs, one by one.