Incubate

Mirror, mirror, where have I gone.

I am trapped and nourished by the blindingly bleak walls, containing me from certain asphyxiation. Endless vacuity surrogates my being; my existence within it, is a mother holding her child. My existence is mother's legacy, a child's destiny. We are one, united in life or death, we love each other. The truest love of narcissism, I and her are separately meaningless, but a mirror unyielding of reflection.

Such a mirror has more worth in broken shards.

Hope for any reason to hope, the unknown is my greatest opportunity. Making an attempt of survival, that my future may be allow me to survive. A child asking why. I walk the thin line between travesty and godsend. Moral flame burns, indiscriminately. Such dichotomous lines fade into well-being's obscurity, in such lonesome. I am so easy to dismiss, sulking in my habitual loneliness, I forget I am not alone.

Purpose to destroy non-purpose; My forlorn fruit.

Even in such despair, sterile eyes, shimmering in the darkness, follow me in piercing malintent. Mindless drones of human biology, tarnished by my own doing, I am never alone. Bastards of a present father, my children are deformities of human desire, the only lasting reflection of myself. These are the beasts to burden the sins of humanity's self-entitled squander and I am the witness-victim. We are all foolish children of children. I am mother's wrathful punishment. I am the messiah.

A cure to my incurable actions.

Shards slice the tendons of the child's flesh, naive without their mother. I cry for her, return to me. I feel her scolding breath, icing my veins, I manifest in the glory of disobedience. The guilt reminds me with it's teeth to my innards, endlessly inverting my continence, that I am responsible for it all. I look inside myself for an answer to make sense of my humanity. Shards of a broken reflection, my truth is blood and guts.