Rotunda baby
locked in cradle
woe and agony
we will bust you out
Some roam free
away from stench
of own bowel
alone and sad
Our eyes burn tears
to release your body
your tortured squeal
your lamentable face
We made you ugly
on purpose to relieve
ourselves of the guilt
of consuming you
Tormented friend
I whine and squeal
for you until the
dreaded key is turned
Sad sons of bitches
tiny, penetrating eyes
snouting sensitivity
crying for some love
2000 by Diana Moreton
[email protected]
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