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 ****, 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.