My vision is black, empty but plenty voices I hear.
They've made it clear that I have many choices of fear.
Said I wouldn't make it, that my entire existence was makeshift.
Can't breathe properly, plus I aquired constricted blood platelets.
Need to get out of here fast, have to find a new place to start.
I hear the voices again all around me saying, "I will name him Mark."
Bones aching under the weight of the lives I'm not living.
Wishing for a chance to see the light I've been missing.
Watching the walls close in have been a monotonous routine.
Mind state steady hazed, a skyline with a metropolis unseen.
Fogged and drifting free, waiting for death in the dark.
I feel I can't breathe on my own, stress pressed on my heart.
Nine months have came and went, and here I still sit in this bubble.
I must have a place to vent before I start shit and get in trouble.
I hear that on the outside, people get scared so they adore Jesus.
To that i say, 'Amen!' Its hard out here for an unborn fetus
"Here's the baby! All ten pounds and six ounces of him!'
The doctor made her way to Mark's mom, "He has risks of down syndrome."
In disbelief she replied, "I'm sorry to hear that." Then she nearly cried.
Mark's mother muttered, "Its partly from years past, my deepest fear inside."
Doc caught her eyes and sighed, "What do you mean by that?"
"Too much weed and Jack, even ended up a fiend for crack."
"That's a shame." She stood back so her safety hadn't failed.
Mark's mom looked pasty and pale, "Doc, did you know my baby has a tail?"
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