July 18, 2018

“I want, I want, I want, my uterus said. I want. But I could not give her anything. There would be no future children, no uterine reconstruction, no life outside my body. She would exist here, within my skin, for however long it took for her to finish putrefying and drain, the muck of her red-brown and stinking, slicking my thighs on her way out, staining the bedsheets…”

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