The Birthgiver

Look upon what has been wrought: Her face’s grimace that contorts with hurt unrivaled by no other pain that has since been uncovered. Entrails of her morbid soul clamber through a gaping hole that was made with callous nails, indifferent to her anguished wails! Lying in a pool of blood that gushes forth in violent floods she looks for help to Heaven’s corner, but is greeted by a sullen mourner. I look down at her ruined form lying tattered, bruised and torn. I wince with grief as life’s diminished. “You and I are truly finished.”