Gift

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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