Soldering The Leftovers

Soldered into every muscle,
into every collapsed vein,
and into every organ that sleeps
inside this cold and accidental body;
lies what is left
of my soul.
It can be heard, like warped floorboards,
creaking under the weight of the
visitors, that come and go like,
collectors of curiosities in a museum.
Morbid collectables, to put on a shelf
and tell stories about.
Stories, stolen.
My soul in a jar.
Like a firefly;
that will die.
Not for sale today
Now please go away.
My soldering continues.
The joining of parts.
Brain matter to heart.
So that I might feel,
And know what is real
in all the spaces in between.