fern capella

she scrapes the last of it
out of her hands up inside
the gore fingers squishing
flesh and fondling baby
fingers ripping them like
ingrown hairs clearing out
her womb destroying motherhood
erasing their cravings their
cocks and hearts their will to live
their violence their sugar
coated lubricated tongues and spines
and fears of cunt hair
the smell of the ocean the roar of her
tsunami extracting
the tumor of semen accumulated uncluttering
the crust of sex
with strangers or strange fathers she guts herself
wide open in
exstacy the thing in her hands is dripping and sticky

"you're not a mother" it shivers out
"i'm not residue" and it slithers down
her throat to be her only voice kill her
abuse with kindness shreik and rejoice

"you used to be my lover"
the second time around
"i used to be your mother"
and she threw the bastard down.