Rage.
Pregnant with fury.
How could the birth be beautiful?
The labor pains are agony.
Knives ripping out my insides.  

Blood.
With your sigh of pleasure, I lose my last drop of life.
My hands are scarlet with shame.
Naked I stand in the night breeze.
Ivory curves and dead eyes.

Sorrow.
Stripped of dignity.
I try to hold my shaking hands still.
I feel unworthy to meet your gaze.
My humiliation haunts me.

Empty.