We’re Only As Sick As Our Secrets

I saw the cells you made in me floating in the toilet, reduced to a web of blood spun across the water’s surface. And I wondered when I saw that gray sac, when I felt the last of life’s potential pass through me, if care would ever greet the news of the fetus I expelled. Instead you sewed my mouth shut and met me with silence, your parting gift the dreams I dreamed in restless sleep of arachnids and children and the absence of color.

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