mothers always cry

Mothers always cry when we told them
about bad things their kid had done.
And the lies their kid had told them
make their cries even louder.

Such soft being wasn’t meant to be here.
This is no place to be all-motherly.
In this dump truck to hell
where excrement are melting ice cream,
sweet flesh and gold bathtubs
tempting, breaking even the holiest of heart.
What do you expect?

Lies are made for you, for us
to have breakfast with you with no shame,
to knock on your door and still call you mother,
while feeding the dogs inside us
with guilt and more mistakes.
But what do mothers know? Other than truth
that is long gone.

Failed to see through tales we crafted
and never know that this kid
that come out of them is pure shit,
pure mockery to God's design
of hypothetically more clever apes.

Devil's firewood kicking in your womb

for nine wasted months.
But what does a mother know? Other than giving birth
to a liar
who never wrote this.