mother
I saw your body rot away at age thirteen,
coming to terms with the turmoil of death just as I was learning how to live.
Forty seven years you lived on this planet and for eleven of them your brain was not your own, it broke our lives piece by piece until all that was left was a cold mother, a broken father, a terrified teen,
and a destroyed little girl.
You didn't want flowers at your funeral, only wanting your Rose and your Lily,
but as they laid your body to rest,
all I could think about was the blooming tumours that used your existence as a feeding ground.
