Turning into Mother

January 27, 2004

The sole desire of my world
is to live inside that dream
and not to have it crash again
as it ever did in the past.
Without control, tears rain
and the thoughts of my head
are like a dark, winter trudge
through ice and stinging wind.
I'm up to the very edge.
I look over and wish again
for the wind to push me,
because I cannot jump.
That selfish need taught
a lesson learned so plainly
passed down from mother
and on into her daughter.
When the light hits the glass
and my eyes look into me,
this time I'm looking into
the past, and my mother.
I want to scream,
I want to ask,
I want to wallow,
I want to sleep.
How very like her, I look,
and how very like her, I seem,
and I am suspicious she's here
speaking through me, tonight.
When do the visions
turn real, the words
take on a voice, the world
roll away, leaving just me?
How long do I have
until I am discovered
insane?