Get up

knee twisted.

Everlast bag, microcosm of my aggression, tattered and twisted on the floor;

much like me.

i grit my teeth

Get up.

the pain a reminder of what will be

Braxton-Hicks turning into reality as amniotic fluid gushes

i grit my teeth, for i will be alone, much like i am now

Get up.

your sweet prince will not save you then and no one will save you now

Get up.

with a grunt and a bitten back scream i stand

and limp

and hobble to the stairs

much like i will then

when my sweet prince, my protector, will not be there

and I have to save myself.

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