Look at this dead child in my arms
And know that I blame you.
Look at the pain in my face
And say 'That is my fault too.'
I have only contempt for you
As you sit and pretend to cry.
Your falsity galls, your hypocrisy appals.
Again into my womb you will pry.
Again you will try to make me produce
The fruit every woman must bear.
Watch me, haunt me, shadow me,
I must not bleed, I might kill your heir.
Another month of blood has come
And my failure arrives on time.
You say my womb is an abattoir
Rejoicing in each death, each crime.
I will confess, I will plead guilty,
There's a smell about me like rotting food.
For a flash of a second it shows in my mirror.
I would trap and dissect it if I could.
Some guilt is yours though, take it.
The confession is there, I signed.
So don't you look for life in me
When death is all you will find.
© Morney Wilson