Mother dearest, please stop crying. Your eyes are red and waterlogged like a heart in a jar of seawater. Those clumsy eyes dropped their intentions again, dropped their bombs without thinking about the impending nuclear winter.
The say grave flowers are watered by tears, by grief and love (and good fertilizer). Considering your ****-filled flash of teeth, you should know. Your heart is a graveyard, flowering with thorny roses and black berries, locust trees and crab apples.
If you shook any harder, you would jostle yourself apart. Rusted bolts twist free of their joints rolled too tight. When you collapse, you'll say it's my fault again. But, how can I shatter your bones when you never let me stand for myself?