Tuesday, November 15, 2005

In Utero

I was three weeks late, the doctors were a day away from inducing labor when I showed up. And here I am again, late for my expulsion into the world.
Late for my date with a cunt.

Do you know why the doctors worried at my delay?
What it was about a baby too far beyond its due date that was cause for concern?

During the pregnancy, waste products are excreted into the amniotic fluid. Wait too long after the due date and the baby will suffer from the poisons it is floating in.
The doctors, they were concerned that my own excrement would burn my lungs, before I could even draw my first breath.

Now that is fucking poetic isn’t it?

So I lay on my bed, in a fetal position, turned inwards.
That’s all I do really these days, curl up on myself, in myself.
Thinking about the bright and noisy world at the end of a short and cramped birth canal.

Floating in my own shit I look forward to the day when I can take a lungful of air and scream, for the very first time.

And behind eyelids closed against the salty shit-water flickers doubt of ever escaping.
A failed gambit for freedom because of everything shifted just the slightest bit off.
Over before it ever really started.

A stillbirth.

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