I numbed the pain with vodka.
Burnt the bassinets.
I sliced the the tiny onesies into a million unrecognizable pieces.I grieved until my relief smothered me and then locked myself away until my guilt ate me whole.
I named every child after a disciple, as if that would somehow erase the sins they were spawned from.
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PoetryA series of vent works. Poetry, paragraphs and sentences. Take your pick.