You look just like your mother.
You look just like your mother,
as they sifted through the sheets,
numbers thrown about, figures to the streets.

Her eyes, the same shape, like your thighs and your teeth,
crooked the same, stained the same way,
clenching admist disarray.

You look just like your mother,
your bones all lay bare, as they came
throttling your achievements like flesh to skin.

Her fingers, torn between disgust
and a child, she held to her bosom,
peace to pain, life to death.

You look just like her, I swear.
You know what that says about you, right?


The first poem I've written in a long time. And its right before my midterm. What does that say about my muses? :/