Our bastard child

With all the hatred
that the entire world harbours
that which somehow...
dear God, somehow has been thurst
inside my weary soul,
in every fibre of my body
as if a rag doll has been stuffed with cotton inside
to make it full of life;
I stumble toward the last heap of mountains
with you my love, with you in my heart
that oozes out vermins of your betrayel
stabbed with daggers of your apathy
fucking me from behind
the way of your father's treacherous deeds
the way he fucked you
whose whores weren't enough for him
whose own wife dug you out of her own womb
a creation... a mockery of her own gods
a crown jewel made for that moment of love-making... fucking
where you and I reached our heights
where you and your other whores had gone
before I came along.
Only to lie in labour alone screaming your beautiful fucking name
... to spurt out a clot of blood
that I named "Our bastard child".
Yes, my love, I'm stumbling toward my last destination
and I am holding onto your lovely small hands.

5th April 2010