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Replying to a comment on:
Backwards baby blend (Free verse) by Blade
It stands on the lonely kitchen top,
the red juice simmering with friction powered heat.
The light flicks on.
Slowly,
ever-so slowly,
large lumps form
creating miniture monstrous designs,
each joining
larger,
larger.
The features arise to the faceless head of crimson distress,
Vocal chords hangin down one by one
to form a throbbing vibration of noise filled tension,
in the air.
Then the torso,
Then the legs and,
soon soft feet rest gently
upon the cool hard razor of dispair in the motorized pit.
the baby stops in it's cries
as it floats,
slowly,
softly,
ever-so calmly,
into its mothers arms.
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