Empty of Life

My breasts ache, hollow
scooped clean, shriveled against my cold skin.

My stomach, tight as vinyl
no room to grow, to feed.

My hands, dumb as cows clutch the void air around me.
A mother, I shall never be

squat, blood sprayed infants crawling
from between my thighs into this world's

cool, detached embrace.
Not my ovaries but my heart infertile-

empty arms, slippery as fish.
I would tarnish the precious gleam of your face,

my eyes would glaze at the taut shrill of your cry.
A baby, my body shall never

support your weight, cushion flailing feet
alien skulls crushed between the fleshy walls

of my canal.
I would break your fragile spine,

drop your glass frame upon the dirtied floor.
A mother, I shall never be. Your life,

a promise within this world of lies
will be the joy of another.

A woman worthy of such treasures,
a woman who will not crumble and fade

before your innocent eyes.
No, I would rather die than give life

only to see it ruined by my touch,
tainted by my cruel and dirty heart.