Mother Dear

Little lady,
Here you are,
sitting your self down and opening your mouth.
Serpentine words, formed by your familiar voice,
slither through my mind entangling themselves in my doubts.

Ageless notions plague my mind, spawning questions
that wander, picking at my suspicions like grazing sheep.
Patience
Your ramblings are all-encompassing bombs,
so tread softly.
Who knew?
The trigger was in my mouth.
Old and new wills collide,
I spoke and my paradise turned inside out.

Shards of the crystalline doll I held so tightly
protrude from my bloody hand.
There is pain
of a rude awakening.
Drops of red life undulate as they fall;
I watch them dance.

I built your façade.

You were my doll:
my perfect creation
fashioned from paradise.