Apparently,
one cannot eat
in the comforts of her own home.
Oh, yes, That's right.
It's not her's.
It's 'her's'.
She, the devil in disguise,
the one who commands you to cower at her mighty might,
the narcissism oozing out of her pores.

Oh no.
I'm sorry.
I literally just described every narcissistic villain mother figure out there.
Shall I start again?

Alright.

When mad at somebody else,
you're her best friend.
While yelling her heart out,
she asks you to join.

You do it,
because it feels good.
Feels good that the monster's accepted you,
so you pretend.

you say a few things,
sneer a little,
watch her smile,
in approval.

but when the time comes, and she's mad at you-
everything in the past,
is used against you.

You can't even defend yourself,
since it's all true,
you did say those things,
yes. you.

as of right now, my hand's a sweltering into an ugly red hue

marks on the back of my arm,
they're going to scar.

but it's not the physical one that's going to stay the longest,
but rather the words,
the blood running after the hurt.

But every time.
she brings me back to her side again.
every time.



                                                        ­    -YYC