Ripping down the lining on the walls,
Like stripping paint.
Wash it down, spray it bleeding
Through the crack under the door,
And it burns.
Here I crouch in anguish, 
Clenching empty womb,
And languish in this room until it's over.

And there is help--
In a bottle on the counter,
Take two or three, or four to make it thorough.

But this is only primer.
The room is not yet ready.
If I numb the pain today--
I'll numb tomorrow.

The End

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