Through a gape in the curtains 

A shard of morning light 

slices my bloated belly in two

How ironic, I think

A body divided 

The inner, unwanted

The outer, a pathetic addict

And they tell me

MY baby will be born a junkie 

Assuming it doesn't O.D. 

inside its little toxic den first…

 

There's dust motes twinkling 

in the shard's overflow:

 

Dead skin can be so beautiful 

 

A cold sweat is starting to cry

through pores angrily inflamed

Making me twinkle too

Twinkle, Twinkle little star

But, I'm not a star at all

Just the empty space between 

 

I'll need a fix before school today

There's plenty waiting to feed my demon 

Wheeler-dealers, habit feeders

But, glad tidings! 

There was another mass shooting yesterday 

not far from here

Perhaps, we'll get the same

Blessed be the right to bear arms!

 

An, actual, instrument of death

has more rights than I do

 

Perhaps, the dust motes

will become blood spatter.

It'll be a blessing, really 

For us both

I'm not ready

Not able

I'm a prison, within a prison 

An addict

A slave

I am worthless 

 

Land of the free?

For those not yet born

Or those whose hands guns adorn