a moon
on dusk
flattery would
sprinkle Saturday
to swing
in the
auto tunes
and flash
the songs
heard with
ear and
capture her
rhythm with
the exposé
surreptitious in
a wager
of synergy

She sits in the Doctor's office,
with one thing on her mind;
To rid herself of this Fetus,
so she can go on with her life.
~
Her dreams would all be ruined,
if this child were to be born;
She just can't let that happen,
thus she decides to Abort.
~
They call her back to a room,
she follows the Nurse's lead;
Gently she lays on the bed,
then sees the ******* machine.
~
Her mind is filled with doubt,
"Am I making a huge mistake;
The baby isn't even alive,
get a grip, for pity sakes."
~
Then the Doctor enters the room,
he is really quite polite;
Inside of her, he inserts a tube,
and she squeezes her eyes tight.
~
But deep within the occupied Womb,
the Fetus flinches away;
As the hose begins to tear apart,
how and what it may.
~
Then it grabs onto her tiny hand,
no longer a thumb to ****;
The baby's eyes are filled with tears,
for the pain is just too much.
~
Little by little, it tears her apart,
no one can hear her screams;
But parts of her pass through the tube,
thanks to that horrid machine.
~
Her tiny head is the last to go,
donned in curly, black hair;
She's simply but a memory,
Mama's product of an affair.

unlikely friend
remorse of the swelling tensions
us risen from the affair
we muse together
of our greater imbalance
the spontaneous occurrence
of our bewicked empathies
we were not designated
yet this path our own will
tiding foreign bodies to his shore

dreams are bittersweet
a lot of good things will happen, but they have to end,

you have to wake up and come back to reality,

what we had was a very beautiful dream that I wish would never end.