The painting you gave my mother still hangs on the living room wall.
It watches my despair blend into one color. GOLD.

Years pass and I still let my brain rot.
Shallow is liked and I've become quite fond of the ground.
Silence is no longer part of recovering anything that is whole.
I've trained my heart on all the
" How To's" , so when the attack comes I'll be familiarized with the feeling.

You always warned me about MEN, and Dear you stand corrected.
How could I have ever opposed you?
From you?

That's a question with no end.
Still my tainted spine remains haunted.