Your worry wart gaze won't do us any good
So turn your eyes away, and let my war torn wounds heal; These hands now know naught but battle, And these hate coated lips - bladed words.
I'm sorry, my mother dearest.
While your callous hands grasped mine with care such, I cannot bear to touch yours while laced in the bile of this world. So hide them deeper underneath your skirt.
Turn away, my mother dearest.
Bear to know that your child wages a war with themselves, To turn your gaze away when I dissolve into nothingness, And encompass all the chaos, which I bore witness to.
Your child is a warrior, my mother dearest.
So these scars will never fade. When your fingers trace my skin at midnight hours, Weep not for me - I fight for our sake.