---- Consume, consume,
These fiends will be her doom!
Mother's space, her resting place,
the apartment's nightly state
— where the entity stays.
There is no sound
All except the music that holds me down.
.
I can't hear myself
Yet I feel distressed.
.
This plane is a wall
Between life and death.
Here is where the cadavers commence!
.
I am not dead,
This will be mother's end.
.
I cannot reach the living
Because I occupy her world,
Where parasites can torment the soul.
.
The canary of birds
Swirl and swirl,
Bright lights form the room,
Suddenly, my bedroom is the moon,
She is bummed like fumes.
.
The sweet will continue her visits
Not the vestry's wishes,
And her human seed will forgo an eternal possession,
Her mouth is the entrance.
.
The plane is a wall
Between life and death,
where cadavers commence.
.
Jezebel has kept mother trapped in her world
Where rotten apples mold
Worms wiggle from the holes
That Dahlia will forever hold.
.
Dahlia is the next fruit to be
From the spoiled apple tree —
Where the worms eat her insides
And her eyes are catatonic like night.
.
I shall see more of her sweet,
how Jezebel fed off her human seed.
.
This is the liminal space,
between love and hate,
where life and death separate.
.
My room is my sanctuary,
not her obituary,
love, peace, and support
feelings that my mother cannot hold,
because the tree is rotting her mold.
.
Mother cannot be redeemed;
Dahlia's just a smelly seed.