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C is for control
by Timothy WilsonShe's a chess piece that strikes any direction but straight
She’s made of battery acid and animosity
Under American bridges calling human innocents to its demise
The lingering guilt that burns in my heart and bleeds out my nose
The fallen Angel with tar for blood and smoke for breath
The woman is rancid of the soul
She will induce vomiting of all that is pure
And the silver lining of your naïve spiritual stomach
I’ve never felt her directly
But she doesn’t eat her young
And the mother of the underworld left a birth mark on me the size of ball and chain
07/08/2011 Author's Note: about my sociopathic biological mother's indirect but harsh impact on my adult life.
Posted on 07/08/2011
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Wilson
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Wayne Tate on 07/08/11 at 05:31 AM I feel as if I am devaluing this piece by calling it powerful. Man, did it leave a mark. Nicely done. |
| Posted by Mo Couts on 07/08/11 at 04:45 PM Oh wow, Timothy! This is quite the read! VERY powerful and touching. |
| Posted by E. A. Pugh on 07/09/11 at 12:41 AM Great poem, every line is thoughtful. The end is dangling and stained. Write on! |
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