Earliest Memories

Earliest memories

Of the same
Death complex

Mother knows best.

Earliest memories

Huddled, insane
In a rented home

Shake stained, thin walls

A histrionic mess.

They’ll kill us, you.

The bikers next door

Rev engines, Spit

Blind metallic grit

To be segued

To the death rattle

Of an X-ray machine.

Your tiny limbs, unsafe,

Pumping blood no more.

Her crying, twisted face,
Somewhat ridiculous,

Ravaged to the core,
Conveys, betrays...

I brought you here,

So why not let you know,

“Life ends in death.”

So I felt death’s cold hand

Before my mind crafted

Memories and expertly

Learned disdain

Of my own body,

Sure to rot, taught,

No - a message ingrained:

There is no escape

Except the worst kind.

Earliest memories

Of the same

Complex unfiltered

Purged from her mouth

And to keep sane

I developed a self-upholstered skill:

A strange, warpaint

To self-soothe, remove,

And reject the taint

Of her imposition.

The skill is now lost.

The decades dry out,

And time hits its drought.

And I am eaten, slowly, by

Earliest memories.