Frantic grasping at the skin
try to keep the tears closed, try
to keep the limbs attached
but still I am filled with holes
still I wade into these waves and
sink with a wound I cannot heal

Crusade against the sin of
your mother - alone and
always alone - sometimes it
feels like life is the
chronic disease and I am
cursed to cope with this
terminal illness

Hollow in the eyes and
hunger without treatment
Loose skin worn like
clothes ill-fitting, was
never a child who could
carry the weight of her family
Hell helpless and stained