Make Babies

You know the drill

Sacrificial virgin

Given to the gods of

Eldritch chaos

They don’t care about your daughter

Who you sold to them,

Her soul their dowry

What more can be said?

She’ll be another addition

To the newly dishonoured

Dead.

She was just a baby,

So you said

Your child who was passed through the fire

The ire of the chaotic gods

Trapped, strangled by a thin wire

Like a squealing rabbit

She’s just their sow, their prized whore

A breeder.

When she passes to the other side,

The devil will be there to greet her.

Make Babies, story and photography by P. L. Cobb

You know the drill . . .

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