Lletres: Consider The Thief. In Vitro.

A fear forms I cannot name
pulsing in waves of sine,
in gaunt rooms, in pallid light
and flatlines

In faith I drank as from a spring,
yet a bane makes itself in me,
and thirsts for the very things
I despise

Though by no choice of mine,
I see through my mother's eyes.
I look to a newer world
with the sunrise

Where birthrights endow;
not to burden and bear,
but bless and bestow,
and baptize as heirs

But I'd be received with sighs
as the bane of my mother's pride;
as a stranger inside her womb,
yet outside.