Love of a Mother

La marionnette inconscient rampé,

Blinded by a birth-born love,

Matching the twitches,

And conscious tugging,

From the matronly Puppeteer.

With a twist of her wrist,

Another path is rerouted.

An illogical shift towards the city-shaped cliff.

Legs lift from a far away hand,

And crash down,

Ignoring the impulses that erupt.

The soul-anchor snaps from tension,

And the golem loses his/her/its love in a sweeping flood,

Cracking the clay that encases,

The pain erupts from inside,

He/she/it feels needles all through\in\out.

A flash of white hot light explodes behind his/her/its world-at-hand:

Un corps, ne permit savoir pas le beauté de étant amoureuse parce de Maman.

Spider silk from the sky,

Pulls him/her/it,

Comatose body and mind

Over and into the {prim}{ordial} maw of the liquid Leviathan.

Titanium wires pull taut,

Like a rope across an absurd chasm;

Preserving the balance.

Until the subtle snap of a grip releasing,

Sends the mannequin head first into the tumultuous tide,

With the tender love of a Mother.

The palsied palm,

Opens and lets fall,

The Threads of Fate.

Love leaks through a frantically paralyzed eye,

Staring past the guilty ghost,

Watching for the wind to scratch the windowglass.

Self assured truths,

Manifest in grotesque seizures,

Of soul. Through body.

“Mine are the hands that have lived the life of means to my singular end. Through him/her/it, I reached into the world. I lived with the living and lived with the nothing. And now this. Him/her/it is gone. No chance to stop it. Gone. That second in time, and everything that ever happened in that second? Gone. There’s no chance to go back. The future is pressing down more on my chest than the pass; there’s an ethics at work here. The murder that stains his/her/its shirt bleeds up through the vines, into my bed, into my dreams. Parasitic cities echo in my pillow, soothing me to slumber. The blood of children I have never known covers my thoughts like Ochre Wallpaper. My Crimson sheets are the seas of fire that swallow forests. Him/Her/It housed my will with no ability to consent or deny. My untethered soulstrings scar my body and flay my être-pour-soi. The children of my will beget my own loss of innocence.”

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