You breathe upon my face, you gift me light.
But ignorant I am; of the torment
that makes you blue, and now your back is bent.
The burden of decaying children might
corrode your marrow. Mother please ignite
the fire inside me, let me not lament
your barbaric conclusion. Heaven sent
you are, your tears ignored I: the contrite.
Unborn I am to myself, yet to find
the inner eyes. My morals have declined
so much I stab you mother from the womb.
I wish to end this, torture that entwined
my limbs with yours. My follies; if not mined
then mother it’s you who will build my tomb.