deepundergroundpoetry.com
System Baby
Whore baby, though the womb
of a strung out street whore.
Bought into this world two months early,
Tiny, sickly and weak.
Machine baby, though the tube
You breathe, gasping for each small breath.
Locked in your smooth clear tomb,
veins of the machine to sustain life.
Burden baby, just a bill to the hospital,
left by alley cat whore.
she slinks back into night
her home the streets,
There the drug is waiting to embrace her.
Forgot baby, left in a plastic case,
No human touch to easy your pain.
Not a word of comfort spoken.
Gone baby, stolen by death,
left this world of pain,
only two week old, not tear shed
Did you go to better place?
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