specks of bunkum but somehow watery

Gentle Handling

You.
Ugly baby.
I saw hundreds of lonely sperm cells swim up together in a rush to fuck the egg. They were purple with poison, rich with hatred.
I saw you penetrate, I saw you slyly swimmingly slither, slap, form, become.
I saw the way you grew tiny feet, a large head, all on your own, and large arms, extremely large.
I saw you provoke the morning sickness, how you giggled when she puked, how you ate everything she swallowed so she was never full until the sheer size of your body began to stab at her insides.
I saw you disallow her food, I saw you force her to stuff herself until she thought you might burst through.
Ugly, extremely ugly baby.

Your head is so large.
So so large.
Your mother hates you. You've hurt her.
You've been marinating in her belly for over a year now. She curses you when she wakes up. When she's bent over the toilet bowl summoning up the last of her gluttony, when you're the size of fucking Jupiter, when her tears melt into her saliva melt into her sweat melt into her mucus, when she's praying you dead, praying herself dead and all she can think about is that one woman who died with a tummy burst open by your sister in soul, who sat in a pool of her own blood, dead, with a baby in her lap, alive and soulful-   yet not worth two shits, nothing can save her.

I've seen the way you climb and roll and adapt and mould. You've discovered and gnawed dead all the bits of her body that shone of health. She swears- she was never this huge, never this full, this empty, this sick. I've seen how perfectly you fit, how skillfully you've bullied her shell into accommodating you, and although she hates you, she cannot live without you, love without you. Who will she love? Who will love her? I've seen you kill her, seen her wish she had killed you. I've also seen her love you. In the dead of night, when you're quiet and asleep, not hungry, not full, I've seen her bring her palm up slowly over your head, I've seen her whimper softly her sorries before she goes to sleep soaked to bits in love and guilt and glory.

A few days ago, I saw her bathe. She was crying with joy, she looked awake. She was lathering you up in soap, herself up in soap, she was strangling you, lathering up, she was picking at her angles, letting the water into her body, she was shivering, she was giving birth, not to you, to herself. She was killing you! I had never seen her so happy, so guilty, so red- burning. The bathroom reeked of freedom, of corpses and of rebirth- the ventilator sympathetically dressed it all up as cinthol fumes. She stepped out the victor with you limp in her arms and I rejoiced, I saw her smile.