What if the worst were to happen?
Would I be forced to feed its parasitic seed?
At the end, when its seed is extracted,
It will have drained my soul, trust, hope, and joy.
Once the seed is planted,
My humanity has been ripped from me.
I’ll be nothing but a wilted flower;
Dried from the inside out.
The decaying, fallen petals are my tears of melancholy;
What little of me is left will be a husk,
Of the woman I used to be.