Mother.

Your twisted tongue wraps it’s self around me.
I’m meant to be your definition of perfect; yet you treat me like your enemy.
Now your echoing voice spins a viscous web full of lies not strong enough to catch me.
With one small glance, you shatter me.
I can’t bare to think where you will scatter me.
A wasted life destroyed by the pitch fork laying in your mouth
Your no longer my sanity, ever since you became so sane.
I’m sat here crying just to create the window pane,
For this house that sits on a bed rock full of lies.
You can’t define my body because however much you want it to be yours,
It’s mine.

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