"Mommy, it's time to get up."
She doesn't reply.
It's always difficult waking her.
I creak open the door.
Feathers, like from an Angel's wings,
scatter on the floor.
How odd, but beautiful none the less.
"Mommy, did you and Daddy have another fight?"
Still, no response.
It's scary when they fight.
Mommy probably has a hangover again.
I walk into the room.
The feathers, like delicate flowers
surround my feet and sift on the wind
that my movement causes.
My mind draws blank as my eyes bulge.
Such beauty!
Mommy never looked so gorgeous
as red bursts like a rose from her chest.
I trace my fingers up mommy's arm.
She doesn't move, like stone as she is cold.
My fingers stop just before the rose
(I had darted around some scattered petals).
I don't want to damage the pretty thing...
but the more I look at it,
the more it calls to me.
It's so pretty, sprouting from mommy's chest,
even it's stamen is pretty.
It's tall and at the bottom it is silver,
died red from the flower.
The top is black and long; a beautiful handle.
There is a picture of a snake on it, blue with a red eye,
teeth barred.
I trail my fingers over the snake
as I absentmindedly touch mommy's arm
and say, "Mommy wake up,
Look at how the pretty flower is!
Flowers are so pretty!"
 Ayala55 · Thu Mar 04, 2010 @ 12:46am · 0 Comments |
