Writer, convict, thief!
Who gave you permission
Answer me,
To steal my possession?

You rip open my rib cage
And take away
That little pump
Which all day long
Has pumped up blood
Through all my veins!

In a moment,
Suddenly - the blood flow stops.
Frozen in time and space,
Cold and frigid I stand -

Till you gave me something else...

And now I look -
Not to take it back
But to keep it safe -
That which you've given
To me in turn.

Sam Pete

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/writer-convict-thief/