Mother

Hot angry tears, not because of the way you let me down.
Down
         Down
                   Down
                             again.
But they way you roll you eyes, like a child, tell me I'm a child, a little girl has so much less to say than I.
You wield daggers, flaming hot, engraved the words "You're not listening" into my soul
I feel like wildfire, out of control, you took from me my composition.
Reduced crescendos and arpeggios into dissonant chords. Angry fists smashed into a piano.
I give,
         and give
                     and give
                                  hoping.
That you will reciprocate, just one moment. Hear a word upon the wind and not bury it in the earth.
That you will not pierce that ancient wound and tear it asunder and laugh as the red essence of my being pours out onto your floor.
Shame and guilt  The slow defeat by perfect eyes, by measured words, each weighed against my failings.
I fight back, each blow a desperate gasp for air, tearing flesh from my own bones, clawing at impossibility.
I fall
       falling
               felled
                        by you.
My hatred burnt away, the embers prick my skin the last tendrils of my armour are consumed.
I am naked, shivering in perfect beat to your slow, ringing footsteps. Shuddering breaths my only voice.
I am muted by your 'understanding'. These are my eight beats rest, I do not recall how to play, which notes?
"I know you love me, and I love you, sorry" a perfect cadence. Standing ovation. I am nothingness again.