No room to breathe,
to speak,
your eyes scream,
suffication.
And you hands,
sign a want
your brain is shrieking,
to act on hate,
and on a bitter jealousy,
of your own child.
I sit across from you,
wondering,
if this is simply
a delusional state,
or a truth
that I wish,
was as unreal,
as it sounds.
Author's Note:
Written 2 years ago.
