When lilies of pain bloomed from soil saturated in
blood
and lust
Mother Gaea gave birth to her most wretched daughter
A Stifled and stillborn and butchered daughter
A sacrificial lamb, of a daughter
An empty and anguished and defiled daughter
An ache
who was born from the corpses
left clinging together after the dust has settled.
An Ache
who’s cries were the imminent whistle of a descending bomb.
An Ache
who’s very breath was fulled with our most desperate whispers and prayers.
We set Gaea ablaze,
Left her singed and seared and amputated,
nothing but the sharp-edged fragments of what was,
burning away at memories of the battles that lingered still on her tongue.
A forest fire consuming and destroying itself, yet continually growing,
Growing enough to
burn
and burn
and burn
And burn
but not quite kill,
Only to leave her daughter alive.
A daughter left to roam the blistered cadaver of her mother,
An Ache, still alive,
Alive and sickly and sweet
Full of beating blood and sticky wet breath.