I remember the smell of her

Channel #5, stale cigarettes, & apathy

Restlessly roaming her void

Where the senses petrify

In a womb of fruiting bodies

Casting out the naked spawn

Born of deliberate, desperate lies

I have no memory of trust

No protection or compassion

Only basic needs of survival

Served with the face of abjection

Nurturing sorrow & fear

Like thorns in the cradle

My infantile screams of rage

Echoed through the emptiness

As I became the thing she hated

And she became the thing I loved.

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