My Mother, The Monster

Her life was a snowstorm; while the rest of us relied on oxygen to breathe she could not cope without inhaling a constant supply of that damnable white powder. It slid down her nasal passages, snaked its way through her veins and made a home of her habit- gradually evicting her health, her children and, eventually, her sanity.

When my mother told me to pack my bags, I knew it was only because she had done one too many bags. With vehemence in dilated eyes she fallaciously lamented how it was my very existence that had deprived her of her role as a mother in our lives.

I long for her to take an honest look in the mirror, but these days the closest she gets to that is when her reflection stares back at her widened nostrils, the straw cut as short as the one she dealt us.

Her life has become an illusion, and I have watched her disappear.

 

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Silent Strings

You cannot leave; you were never there.
You told us we were but borrowed from the Earth, and that we did not belong to you…
Nor did you belong to us.
But I felt you to be mine; through butterfly kisses and Tiny Bubbles, to broken chests that filled with smoke and breathed out the emptiness of a directionless existence…
“The Total Acceptance of What Is”, you preached, and so accept I do; of everything and everyone, to Love is all I live to do. Yet I cannot live up to my namesake, for in return Beloved I am not -although you Christened me so.
We are all fleeting.
All-fleeing.
It is all I have known. It is all I have become. And although in body you exist, your spirit has long since abandoned me.
What was has died. And with it, a part of me.
Our music has stilled.
But I will always be a part of you.
I hope one day, you Remember.
I hope by then, I have Forgotten.