The dawn’s rays caress my face, drying out the once perennial river of tears as I lay on the floor with a hand on my lifeless bump and slipping into oneirisms. ‘Early outcome, no attachment’, they solaced. But had they lived in all my castle in the air with my baby, this one, the previous and the previous… I longed to see my children, any of them. I was always told that I’d be a great mother, nursing was in my blood as I had raised babies more than you could count on fingers. Regardless, not every dream can be fulfilled, right?
The need for a heirloom, dexterity in chores and cooking, a tumultuous life of mine with this bump was an elude which I no longer inherit. Yet they have the audacity to console me, when on the inside they’re cursing me for killing my immaculate creatures as I do. I deserve to be cursed and I’d whole heartedly take it upon me.
Because tomorrow I turf out another lifeless baby, another human I killed. I am house of murder with a failed marriage and dead memories.