Writing
Little bundles of joy
< BackIn the coming days, Giving birth will become the equivalent of defecating and mourning combined…
you shall watch helplessly as your fragile little sponge gets tossed into the putrid sludge of societies combined excrement, absorbing the tainted sperm of a new unearthly father, eroding the values of the Oxfam mothering handbook, you so poorly installed upon that supple mind….
IT will grow blackened with morn, ever blindly searching for its source, only to become more lost in a dark maze of confusion and despair. Unwillingly, IT will absorb every drop of foul debauchery, dripping from the laughing mouths of pestilence.
ITs nails will constantly bleed and fester to the bone, as it incessantly picks at the filth beneath its flaky claws, harvesting a pustulating soup between its toothless bleeding gums.
Slowly IT becomes its own parasite, the newly adapted survival strategy of a species in devolution.
You will find IT gargling sour milk from the teats of diseased ridden whores in an attempt to comfort its ever lingering yearn.
Your precious little bundle of joy will grow up, with high aspirations, destined for big places and big events. Large is the event indeed for the flies finding open wounds to deposit their eggs, chewed into meaty nurseries by the demented rats found so abundantly in ITs agonising alleys.
Don’t feel blamed oh dear mother! Don’t be blamed oh dear father! Don’t feed this vicious cycle with yet more guilt!
Who was to protect the wombs of your unborn, so laced with malignant scabs and cystic placentas, unable to remove the profane filth pumped daily into the delicate navel? WHOM?
Who was to let you know that this drained corpse we live on, needed yet another leech? WHOM?
And who was to feed you when YOU were to reach your bitter end?
Trapped in a roach infested bed, suckling your last reserves of oxygen through a blocked straw in your neck, quivering as if trying to communicate a futile message of woe and help to the imaginary voices not even you can hear anymore…
Your intense hate for each other is now justified, for your little bundle of joy has bloomed into a beautiful Protea of maggots!
It was all worth it, you did you’re bit for society, you spawned a new future, an intelligent race whom now lay radiated and choking for breath amongst elaborate broken furniture and a billion acres of tabloid papers covered in human shit.