The Birthing of Monsters

There’s a boy in the cellar with a stone in his mouth. In the stone is a bird. In the bird is a future unhatched, unborn, unclean. Unbeknownst to the world, he is dead. In the dark there is laughter from faces unseen. It is here you will stay and alone in this place you will dwell. With them. With it. For all time. But I’m here, Mamma’s here. I wish I could help you. I wish I could hold you. I wish I could save you from me. I wish I could stop this. I wish I could help this. I wish it could somehow be better than it is. But it’s not. And I’m me. And you’re you. You’re down there. I’m up here. So it goes. There’s a wound in my heart that won’t heal, and it bleeds. It’s your fault little boy, yours alone and I’ll snap you inside like a twig on a tree ‘till you’re still and at peace in my arms. There’s a boy in the cellar with a bird in his mouth. In the bird is a stone. In the stone is a future reviled, rewritten, repaired. Realized by the world, he is born.