Poem – Momma

Dress me up in fire roses,
Shower me in blue perfume.
Clean my tearful eyes with poison,
So I can look at you in gloom.

If it’s love, there’s no condition ,
Except for everything I do.
If it’s love, there’s nothing better,
Except for loyalty to you.

And when I cry, it’s always tender,
Always crafted up with care.
And when I die, don’t be regretful,
Brush the bruises off my hair.

Your prayer sounding in my silence
To her, who’ll cut me up in two.
“Erase her, please,” you plead with guidance.
While I point the mirror towards you.

To this vision of salvation
I have turned with lustful eyes.
If nothing really ever matters,
Then who will even hear my cries?

The single display in your booth,
I am running out of dreams.
Embrace me whole with your desires,
As I sing to you my fears.