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Mother, May I? ( Lobelia )
...And what awaits a distant time of death and sea born waking?
An untimely death in the cold cup of tea which tastes like salty water, it tastes like a last breath before a plunge in the deep end, doesn't it?
Paper folded upon paper under dirt and brick and rust of metal that hides so deeply in silk hands of paint and need.
The clock!
The clock!
It struck the last note!
Alas I see the pumpkin and key behind a mask of direst joy, no cruel intentions but-Dear, oh my, what hand betrays me in this time beneath the waves of purple?
LIES!
I do cry murder, murder!
No, no, no.
None believe a mad girl of chains and locks, ones without keys, I see you decieve me or is it I who surprises you?
Let my voice be heard above the rest of plain people and doctors who give away lives and replace them with papers of death!
I do cry for one who was in fact murdered!
Though he may not have waken 'till after my time has done he was not given a choice of living past a month or years, a woman of importance to him took it from him in just a name!
Discontent birds may fly to your range of throne but I do swear by the god you may believe in so fully foul that I will avenge the very LIFE of my love, my brother and I do not fear who dares listen to my words!
My tongue tastes of filth and anger so let my mouth rip your life away!
'Mother' you woman of devil and sin may I slice you down from nose to naval?
Depression is gone for the time being and the manic thoughts of your dying flesh shall be mine, mine, O' cry murder!
Shall I abide in a world without him?
Yes and only if the very demon that so possess me takes your soul and fragented body with us!
Black eyes of spirits and death come holy to my kingdom of filth and revenue for the time of mischief comes in the O' Hallows Eve of nights, the blackest and brightest of them all.
We wait, wait, wait.
'Till the time will come.
And I do swear, it will.
An untimely death in the cold cup of tea which tastes like salty water, it tastes like a last breath before a plunge in the deep end, doesn't it?
Paper folded upon paper under dirt and brick and rust of metal that hides so deeply in silk hands of paint and need.
The clock!
The clock!
It struck the last note!
Alas I see the pumpkin and key behind a mask of direst joy, no cruel intentions but-Dear, oh my, what hand betrays me in this time beneath the waves of purple?
LIES!
I do cry murder, murder!
No, no, no.
None believe a mad girl of chains and locks, ones without keys, I see you decieve me or is it I who surprises you?
Let my voice be heard above the rest of plain people and doctors who give away lives and replace them with papers of death!
I do cry for one who was in fact murdered!
Though he may not have waken 'till after my time has done he was not given a choice of living past a month or years, a woman of importance to him took it from him in just a name!
Discontent birds may fly to your range of throne but I do swear by the god you may believe in so fully foul that I will avenge the very LIFE of my love, my brother and I do not fear who dares listen to my words!
My tongue tastes of filth and anger so let my mouth rip your life away!
'Mother' you woman of devil and sin may I slice you down from nose to naval?
Depression is gone for the time being and the manic thoughts of your dying flesh shall be mine, mine, O' cry murder!
Shall I abide in a world without him?
Yes and only if the very demon that so possess me takes your soul and fragented body with us!
Black eyes of spirits and death come holy to my kingdom of filth and revenue for the time of mischief comes in the O' Hallows Eve of nights, the blackest and brightest of them all.
We wait, wait, wait.
'Till the time will come.
And I do swear, it will.
Published 23rd Oct 2011
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