A Murderer or Bloody Authoritarian

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️Caution: This poem contains intense themes, invoking imagery of blood, massacre, malaria, coup d'état, and authoritarianism, exploring the darker facets of humanity. Reader discretion is advised.

They are pregnant with my blood
From the buffet they had on my bone's quilt
Then I go after them with my palms
Clapping them within them
Till the field of my palms
Reflect the evidence of their massacre

When the sun sets
And the moon is set
I wonder
"How could I be kind
To those who buffet on my bone's quilt
To generously pay me malaria for wages?"

Each night
I declare a coup d'état on them
I switch off the life in them
Before they approach their birth beds
To give birth to crafts of themselves
To deprive them their cradles within my shelter.

I decide
Early
That their young will never suckle
On the tiny perforations
On my bones' quilt
To refuse my bones their pangs

Then
I remember
The One who made me
Made them too
Does this make me a murderer
Or a bloody authoritarian?