I dreamt of tears
falling softer than the skin
on the underside of her
bended knee.
The knee she used to pray.
For salvation. For hope.

Toward me,
she looked for answers
to the riddles
plaguing her mind.
Turning thoughts
into open sores
incapable of scabbing over.

I simply watched, waited.
Wandered her chaos like a nomad searching
for a safe place to nest.
The help I yearned to give
lost somewhere behind my teeth
aching to spill out.

Pretentiousness passed
from mother to daughter.
An epidemic.
She never had a chance.
Born sick of the flat earth
she was laid upon.