help

-fire

maybe it was the social construct of youth. maybe youth wasn't wasted on the young, but on the young at heart.

watching them walk into your own house, trying to prove their self worth, their hierarchy, their position on the ladder society constructed and made us believe.

and maybe it was the sound if shattering glass, breaking into millions of pieces, the glass that was your heart breaking, because your mother, married and unhappy, couldn't find anyone else.

because she was so deeply wounded herself, the glass of her own heart was so deeply encased in flesh, it became harder to take them out.

because no matter what you do, there will always be that smallest fragment, still so painfully sharp and dug into the mounds of flesh, it will forever continue to hurt her unless she died by the hands of those helping her.

/infinity remains unknown/