My mother speaks to me and I turn away,
Trying to not listen.
Your words all sound like tears to me,
All I can see is your silence, your presence shrouded by hardship, hardship that knows me well.
I cannot bear the memories of last night. Last week. The past eight years.
The dog whimpering in neglect. Your lonely breath his only companion.
Please, stop speaking. Stop speaking. Don’t make me remember that you are still here.
I wish you would go away, go away to a place where I can be sure of your happiness.
Instead, you sit in this house, letting harsh words make everything bitter.
You smile, insist that it tastes fine, that the spices are not stale.
But your food is flavourless, and chagrin seeps through your smiling lips.
I need to leave.
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