Written by 8:30 am Musings • 2 Comments

Death and Babies

Talking bodies; praying lips. She is sad about the lady, or perhaps the baby she killed, pretending to mourn by shaving her hair.

Talking bodies; praying lips. She is sad about the lady, or perhaps the baby she killed, pretending to mourn by shaving her hair.

She buried her baby in the toilet: Daily she feeds him salt, and waited till he was gone; she named her peter.

Now she wants her hair to grow: cos she’s done giving a fuck! Guilt is bitter, why taste it? Her daddy is a thug.

He doesn’t know about her baby, he is happy she killed peter. Death will come for me, tonight or tomorrow: I will sleep naked and death will pass.

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