The Birthing - Autopsy

The punctured exlife slithers

Out your bloody gaping hole

So warm the blood runs down your legs

Your tears you can’t control

Your son or daughter (who knows which)

Is just a pile of shit

You look into what might be eyes

As your mouth flows with spit

Cradle the gelatinous thing in your arms

Leaking its fluids it’s no longer warm

A would-be life is now defunct

Glistening mass of fleshy gunk

Hiding in the shadows

With the birthing now complete

Pick your child up

And suckle on its tiny feet

Bite them off, devour the rest

The body is diminished

Take the hanger, lick it clean

Your ordeal now is finished