Untitled (A poem about my mother)

She sits like a judge...
High on her throne...
Always pointing out your faults...
Which really are her own...

Always making sure you're wrong...
Even when you're right...
Always looking for something...
To start a great big fight...

Blaming everything on you...
And, blaming everyone...
Then suddenly she's nice to you...
But, only because she's "spun"...

A heartless woman...
A heartless mother...
Heartless from the start...

Only giving birth to you...
So she can tear...
Your world apart...

There is no love...
There's no compassion...
There's nothing in between...

Her maternal love...
Is nothing more...
Than a perfect murder scene...