her manslaughter was devoted
those foetus’ were attached to her sleeves
wrapped in warm blankets
straining against the sound of the world
her flimsy hearts, all eleven of them

reflected in her blood
she wanted to be alone
drowning on the bathroom floor
she smiles at the children
holding their combusted brains
attempting to secure sanity with elasticised straps

inside the womb of her mother
corruption didn’t need society

she looked for signs
her burnt daughter
ways to resurrect
without pulling at the stitches
her existence was dependent on it