Breeding

She left her beauty on a train,
accepted fate.

Loved ones left by the side-line
wasting their regret on her freedom
- up for sale.

And the glass's half empty,
it's backwards, half-ready
for the pregnancy she keeps on squeezing,
plush veins and blood insides
leave her
cold yet warm.

Hope wriggled from her womb like
tendrils fall away from cancerous mother's skull.

The station was closed for six pm.

And the DVD player didn't work,
it was the only reason she'd returned
to look at desolation, upon a screen,
cold corporation, where she could
no longer compete.
The familiarity
of over-used words and over used technique and over-educated thighs became old.

The judgemental yawn he provided, at the precise moment, at the perfect time, from across the corridor, down the elevator, out the window and through the wall.

That never mattered.

No smut could make those words better
as she uttered them beneath her breath.
'The removal of the embryo,
the blood and brain and lung and liver
washed across my hands -
talent was always sold
to the highest bidder.'

Though that never mattered.