In the echoes of hate's tortures, Deep in the shallow woods, A new born's cry, To flight led the vaultures. To the mother of the sorrows As an offering i was conceived, A dove among crows, To her arms i was releaved. Another child to nurture, Another child to feed, To feed on the bitter milk, The bitter milk of her greed. Yet woe to thee If cursed thou art as me, For blood shall thou suckle; White silk is a delactie. My cradle rocked at the edge of a tomb, Born in a grave, I was dying in a tomb. From this misery, myself to free, I resorted to the only tool that was given to me. Laying there, as a child in an embryo, Knowing the sweet serenity was to forego. I wrapped the bloodied rope around my neck, And to life itself I said to heck.
Reason for writing:
the mother of the sorrows
Birth sign: Cancer
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