I knew you were there...inside me. I could visualize you as you were curled up inside. I even kept a journal and I drew a picture of you there. I wrote poetry all around your embryonic body and I put my hand on my tummy.
I have that journal somewhere...somewhere at your father's house...in the attic. I even talked to you a couple times before I found out that you was really real.
Then...when there was no room for doubt, when everything was lain upon the table and tears were shed....I made my plans to murder you.