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
