Trauma

Rotten, isn't it
That at the heart of someone's life
Lays such a deep unfairness
Unfairness no-one is too fussed about
When the baby is unborn
You get all the jesus nuts rushing around
After birth there's a vague semi half care
(The rights of the 'worthy' parents)
Then from 18 through until death
It's a giant 'Fuck you. Rot, cunt'
Even if the cunt has lived a firestorm
Of neglect and hates and addictions
Then after the cunt passes
There's all these worries about dignity again
The dignity of corpses and memories and graves
Strange, the priorities
Perplexing
Rotten, isn't it?