| My son... divorcing me. The spitting image of his father. cracking my heart in two. Resusitate my life... fibrilate small consolation. Every day in every way I feel the pain of indecision. I struggle into the light and am blinded. I manipulate my surroundings intent upon constructing the illusion of peace. Peace alludes among the lines of my outstretched fingers. I can't breathe. I fear for the lives I can't control. I fear the life I can't control. I fumble in the blackness. Abysmal sorrow, answer from the depths of your wealth... name my ubiquitous pain. Console me. Empower the river of my tears. White - glaring - sterile - alone I have thrush it can't go home The woman's greatest fear APPEARS - her children are it's anchor. She chooses no outward means to change the surrounding chaos. She is lost. I prefer black. There are no encircling arms no milkie breasts - only crying, nakedness, whiteness. No definition. No woman. I have no needs. The children scream and fight. Nothing matters to the woman. I am an adult. I do not recognize myself. Only the noise penetrates. She hurts - I scream back. Why do the children touch her? The father is gone. it cries again - it always cries Don't bother - no matter. The mother remarries. it bangs it's head against the wall. The woman hurts herself... I AM ALONE. |
Ozzma's
