it's raw and disturbing

Miscarriage

Little fucked up mass of cells
clinging to my wall,
you can’t survive in here;
what were you thinking?
I should come with a warning label:
the alcohol burns,
the cigarettes taste like tar,
the pot disorients,
and the meds rip up my stomach lining.
My body is a toxic zone;
you’ll fall out before you crawl out–
better think twice, baby.
I wake up in the midst of a soggy night,
he’s not there,
and puddles of blood clog my sheets.
I sigh, knowing the funeral
of that simple mass of cells
is just a microcosm
for the death its mother
has wrought upon herself.