My Cardiac Metronome
. . . so things seem to be looking up. . .
today the padre's not home so that means no school for me! motherfucka's!
in any case, just to keep with the trend .. .
a little diddy i wrote some time ago;
"The most difficult thing to hear:"
I sit in a room and listen to her cry to the third person. She cries about a failure on her part. She says she thinks she wasted all that time. All the teaching and caring and loving on her part: i had summed it all up to hurt and abuse.
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I'm a foreigner in this room of three, although i should come first. Tears and regrets, tears and regrets. Stop crying, it's over! She spent the better part of the last two decades reaping what she had sown. A seed of sickness and bitter addiction stitched her children into her womb. The fruits of her labor lay shriveled and bruised on the ground beneath her, forever beneath her.
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They were utter failures and a grave dissapointment. I thought, 'what else is new?' Finally she turned to me and waited for me to speak. Having taken note of a glassiness in her eyes and slightly pinkish tones in her face, I bit my tongue with the force of an anorexic teenager chewing on carrot sticks.
. . . .Crunched under my teeth, the cries of rotton fruit and forgotten seedlings ceased to exist. All I had left to say was, 'I'm sorry I failed you, Mom.'
and that is that.-Gab