Obsession with the question

Obsession
with the question
Am I pregnant?
Could this be it?
I’m not nauseous, just cautious
Of every little blip, pain or twinge
And there’s the syringe
Very pointy
Filled to 1cc
With something oily
To go into me
Is this a rap?
Or just crap
I’m spewing to get my mind off
The ugly truth

Obsession
With the question
What’s my level of E2, P4 & HCG?
Why me?
You couldn’t possibly understand
This brand
It’s out there, left of left
Full of snow white tests and
Message boards of anonymous friends
Broken insides
With no explanation
Only emotions
That need ablation

Obsession
With the question
Where’s our baby?
Give her to me
This feeling of alone
Can’t be shown
It’s difficult to comprehend
But in the end
The ultimate failure
No bed baby in the future
Instead a sterile injection
From the la-z-boy to the catheter
please let it work this time
i'm out of rhyme