Lovely Mother

Born of your flesh

A sickness that issues

   You catch deep breathes, take great effort

Final stings

It must be wretched

  Your hated lovely mother, despised

I saw the bottom of your bottle

At the bottom of my heart

  Your failing mother, I'm torn apart

I walked away from edge

Found footing on the rim

  Your Sickness mother

 

 

I could love mother, but not of you

I could be kind mother, but not for you

I am a great many things mother

Least of all I am yours

I can't define the strings that cut

Its not the abuse that binds, its the blood

 

The blood that stains my floor

That rises to the skin

That gets covered up

Swept beneath

 

                       The blood that thins

the Vodka that beats

 

Your not yourself and for the first time I find myself

   Walking on edge

Running too far

Standing close

 

                The bottom of your bottle... is the edge of my grief

 

 

 

Reviews

[Crow]

Another wondrous piece of beauty and inspiration.

[fireblossom]

I'm certain many of us relate to the emotion behind this well written poem. The device of standing just far enough away yet close enough to convey the power is well done. Not to mention the irony springing from the title...well done and well survived.

[Beth Wilcox]

This is incredible