A little bit of trauma

A little bit of trauma
with mama.
Just a whiff
of
dark breath,
a hint of death
(if only…)

Twist
and
turn
but do not shout.
Twist
and
turn
and flop about.

Say what you want
then retract
Say what you don't
then retract
then react
to that
retract
by saying again
what
has to be said
to survive.
The truth kills.
You don't want
To die.
Fear
of being smitten
being bitten
get's you going again
You bad boy
criticizing
you mother is poor
you boor
A poor poor woman
in need
A needy needy woman
indeed
is your mother
you ingrate
you scion of darkness.

It's quite obvious, really:
Mother says she likes it
You say it cannot be liked
Must not be liked.
Mother says,
why
Cannot?
why
Must not?
(She is so surprised)
You say
because
it is black,
and oily,
and false.
Then you falter.
Could you be wrong?
Could you be wrong about that slick, dark taste?
And then,
(much worse, much worse)
Can mother be wrong?
If mother is wrong, you are an ungrateful cur
If mother is right,
Then you are wrong
If you are wrong then you have wrongfully
slandered
your
MOTHER
for liking an unlikable thing which is in fact quite likable
except for
weird
ingrates like you.
Ungrateful
Wrong
Curs
like you.
But,
But,
But,
Now prove you were wrong
To think she is wrong
And she was right to think
You were wrong
And
My, my
You thought you were strong
Such a hefty man,
Isn't it time to go on a diet?
You know… it's unhealthy.
It is.
Yes.
Mama.
Apologize.
I love you mama.
Say it.
The slick spreads
cloying.

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