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the fruit of a barren mother
is the pungent-sweet smell of eggs laid to rest
their little souls in limbo
she’d hoped for a better fate for them
There’s something lurking around in there, in me. It’s incubating and I imagine it thrashing through my insides to get out Alien-style.
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
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