"You won't be seeing him anymore."
She hissed as she churned those rusty words of art into my chest.
I saw the serpent twirling in her eyes, fighting off kindness and all things humane.
Felt like i wanted to beat those splintering utterances back down her festering throat.
Clenching my sanity i wrenched out a caged response in fear of going exothermic.
"This is not over..."
It started like a train at first,
i was granted the presence of my blood less and less frequent.
I took it upon my canvas of solutions to de-crease her lashing statement,
to make her swallow this cancer imposed upon me and secure the rightful rhythm of things.
One morning all norms expired as the reality of nothingness descended.
The train reached full speed,
i wasn't allowed by her black grace to enjoy the company of our fleshy miracle anymore.
Madness is also like a train,
one that never ends,
ramming you into your sanity,
chipping away bit by bit.
I quested till i found the man with the right caliber paper gun.
A righteous compass embedded in his actions promised success.
Speaking of resolution yet focusing lightly on obstruction he showed me the map.
"X marks the spot" he said, "but it will take time".
"I am a construct of patience" i told him.
Today it is raining reams, beautiful black pricks of truth and command.
A paper cut for each lash she dealt, cutting her out of the equation,
The prince stands now with the king, no longer tainted by uncertainties and fears of the queen.
The jest of it all is i am burdened by tears and sorrow,
unable to snicker in disgust as she.
Knowing the sea is parted in the right direction lends desert to my sorrow,
oil to my hinges.
Infinite scenes are abound now as i ready the clear waters of truth to baptise my son with new possibilities.
Cutting each other always yields the same results:
Our blood runs identical.
Why test this formula?