The ache of life clutches at my swollen belly, a heartbeat soon follows, a tiny figure nested on the floor of my womb.I can feel it’s emotion: safe, protected, warm, comfortable. What would have been its face is pressed against the soft pink lining of my deteriorating organ.

Third times the charm, I place the three oblong compressions under my tongue and they slowly begin to fall apart, overwhelming my mouth with a bitter taste and my body retaliates making my mouth water.

I lay down, placing a hand gently beneath my not yet breathing part of me. It’s fate makes my eyes water but I don’t falter or regret.

Bile rises in my throat, gracefully pouring from my lips as my body heaves and quakes, my hair and face damp and salty. 

My tiny being burns, she’s being torn apart within me, I’m ripping her limb from limb. She doesn’t understand, she screams; no those are my screams. I can’t stop the convulsions and the pain, white flashes beneath my eyelids as my insides char and shred themselves.

Minutes pass, minutes turn to hours, hours turn to blood; pouring, gushing, soaking my thighs and clothes.

I mourn for my loss, stroking the skin above where she once housed herself, I cry for her. I cry for her pain and I cry for mine.

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