Endless,anxious and cold is the night
Just wouldn't allow her
A wink of sleep
Into a lucid world
Into her lucid world.
A world colored with hues
Of blues and blue.
A treacherous color
Turning darker and darker
Till it's all grey and black
And lighter again
As the light falls
Upon her weary eyelids
Opening
For a clear sky
A new sky

My heart never stops
breaking, caving into
itself.
I’m often so surprised
to have any pieces left.
I never wanted to
be like “her”; like my
mother, yet here I sit,
thinking, feeling,
full of guilt.

A guilt that never wanes
or ever could.

I read many books,
many genres.
Some truly make
me face what my heart
knows too well;
this deep sense of guilt.

As I read of characters;
multifaceted, complex men
who step up and love
and raise their sons
and daughters,
I am reminded,
time and again,
that MY sons do not,
or ever will have,
that kind of blessing.

No great male example
to learn from,
to spend time with,
to show them how to
become good Godly men.

Those moments cause me
to question and doubt
myself, as a mother.

I never wanted to be
like “her”; my mother,
with her revolving door
of ****** men
for one reason or another,
yet here I sit,
thinking, feeling,
reminded of how I too
have failed.

The sins of the parents
shall be visited upon
the children…
for that I’m so
very, very sorry
My sons.

The hot tears fall
and the heart disintegrates,
and the anger-sadness grows…
anger mainly at myself.

MY DECISIONS have
brought us all to
where we are today.

Culpability overload.
I wonder, does God
blame me?
Will my sons?
Not that I would ever
blame either if they do.

If I could go back,
if I could begin again,
what would I change?

This is the question
as the familiar pangs
of guilt grow like weeds,
and never subside.

To my sons,
for all of my mistakes
and wrong decisions,
both before and after
your births,
decisions that leave
imprints on your
lives as well…

I am Forever sorry.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 12 Oct. 15
Monday

Sometimes
the words drop
from fingertips,
climbing over each
other like playful
children.

Sometimes
the words flow
quietly, gently,
like soft waters in
a whispering pond.

Sometimes
the words burst out,
roaring like mighty
thunder,
sparking the sky
like brilliant
lightening.

Sometimes
the words spill out,
like scalding lava,
scorching and setting
aflame all in their wake.

Sometimes
the words latch on
with fangs,
suckling the life
force from its
intended victim.

Sometimes
the words infuse
thought and passion
into the bloodstream,
like a ***** *******,
injecting
euphoric bliss.

Sometimes
the words sit back,
silently observing
waiting,
patiently,
for the need
to birth the cries
of the heavy heart

releasing an ocean
of emotion…

and drowning
the world.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyright 16 Oct. 2015
Friday

I'm being honest when I say if it wasn't for you I would have already killed myself.