A moment of pensive afterthought
looking down
the simile of a frown remains on her face
the traces of apathy etched in place
metabolize the downsizing of the capacity of her soul
she is unable to control the irony
she says to the fetus, it's you and me!
you are a metaphor of what you were meant to be
she's choking now
the vomit never makes it past her sulking mouth
she's a eulogy walking in fervent reverie
abstract thoughts for a stained glass body
she'd rather be dead than go through this again
they should take it all out next time they go in
she is broken
there is nothing left of her soul
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