Autopsy - The Birthing


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

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