It Grows

You haunt me, mother.

I saw your corpse, lying there.

Unmoving.

Blood pooling.

Lips blue.

But,

This is not what haunts me.

The ghost that plagues my waking hours,

And stains my brain bright with blood,

Is the mere fact

That you are

Gone.

You

Left

Me.

And you are no longer my mother.

You are a corpse,

Rotting,

In a box,

Skin swollen, eyes sunken.

Your death bore a life in me,

A seed.

It drinks in your thick blood,

Night

And

Day.

And it grows.

And grows.

And it consumed your death

And it consumes my life.

And I am the seed now.

And the seed is made from your absence.

And it haunts me, mother.

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