The bubbles popped beneath her tips, she wiped warm water against her lips.
She felt the sweat trickle from her hair as she looked towards a belly that was no longer there.
Tiny blonde ringlets that shined in the sun, an innocent voice that laughed during fun.
A face so unknown to never be seen, no body to hold if it had a bad dream.
No toes to tickle upon such tiny feet, no books purchased to read her to sleep.
Just one stuffed lamb sat upon the white tub reminiscent of the baby that could never be loved.
It screamed all the words she heard here and there from people who tried to pretend and to care.
But the words, they were bullets, unbeknownst to them, each bullet, they ripped right through her tough
Her self-healing wounds had no time to heal, they had to be mended, she just had to feel.
To scream and to cry and to let it all out, the toxins that dried up her soul like a drought.
That wasn’t the decision she decided to make, to stitch it all up and try to be fake.
Her lines had been straight and the liquid was red, she relaxed down into her watery death bed.
As she look at the lamb, she knew in her heart they would never understand her decision to depart.
But she closed her eyes and was ready to atone for no baby should have to go to Heaven alone.