Razor Twine

Flowers splayed across polished ebony

did nothing to brighten the preacher's tone,

which grated her eardrums mercilessly

and battered her bruised heart- blow after blow.

The droning plodded diligently on

amidst a symphony of sniveling,

illiciting no obvious response-

but inward, emotions were spiraling.

Her tenuous grip on reality

was further tried in the receiving line

when friends and relatives hovered, hawky;

entrapped her in their loving razor twine.

At last at home, the quietness was stale-

so she opened her mom's bedroom window

to an inward breeze greedily inhaled

and rested her sore eyes on a pillow.

Her tear ducts had shriveled up days ago,

replaced by anger and incertitude;

predictions that her family had sowed

proved literal and shamefully acute.

They said, "your mom will always be with you,"

no doubt intending to ease some distress;

but, her issues exponentially grew-

her mother's soul partially possessed her.

Now, one would think that to be opportune-

but sharing the fuselage made her hotch;

she wanted the power to enter a room

without mom staring at her father's crotch.