Brother /

[kahlil]

I was only ten when she took me.
I remember her ill at ease conscience,
Runny like the eggs my father made,
Every morning that she never ate.
She took me in the spring,
When everything was alive
And introduced me to you.

You were sleeping delicately,
Underneath carefully hidden logs,
You were her secret.
The skeleton of a baby,
She had not wanted.
Her conscience were those logs,
Suffocating your ghost,
Under the mass of her choice.
She wanted more than anything
To come back for you in time,
To take you home, to hear your voice,
But something evil kept her.

My mother trembled like a fountain,
Of thick torrential secrets,
The water she kept was dirty,
Tainted with your bare bone guilt,
And it’s calm rot.

Each night
I lay motionless like your angry carcass,
Devoured by her dirty secret,
As sweat and death filled my bed,
With ants and ghosts,
And faults I could not control.
At a point in time,
We both lived inside of her,
We each, now live separately,
I beg you to live away,
From my clear conscience,
Bitter brother.