you tell me of unimaginable things,
no lungs or breath to ever unspeak.
I am forced into sparse mindscapes,
unseen acres allow endless germinations.
Yesterday is that which obsessively remains,
where I am selflessly engulfed in tomorrow,
in my ignorance to such woe and pain,
such sorrow.
This exacted hour reimburses everything omitted.
and I am nothing.
I am nothing, my voice is deathly erased,
you, with rigour, inducer of mortis, and angel,
of darkness, and darkness holds you, culpable.
Remover of shackles, lamb to the slaughter,
A Loving Mother.