Unable to return it, the boy kept his mother’s

gift; heard it, understood it, accepted her


beast of words. Ill-conceived, born of

incompetent rage, it latched itself inside his


aching rib cage. Wary of her guilt ridden and

thinly spread slices of mother’s pride, the


beast gnawed at young bones, consuming his

youth instead. The boy grew old dealing with


its anger. He questioned his beast, learnt

resilience, nurtured a fierce desire to protect


his wound. And striving to become self-

aware, a better parent than his own, he


remained vigilant, lest his mother’s gift

feast on his own bastards.



◄ Yew

This Work Is Done ►


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