I had my little love, a crystal set into the jewels of my arms.

A tapestry that anchored my heart to my chest.

Her laugh, each stitch, a running vein.

But a thief came undercover of night, crowbars for hands.

Leaving cradle, echoing cries, and gaping breast.

The threads bleeding the Mark of Cain.

Without her to hold, the picture faded. Warmth decayed,

Until heart and flesh turned to scorching, rubied stone.

Arms once jewelled, now moulded shrapnel and steel,

Sharp enough to kill.

Grief entered the cracks from when you were wrenched away,

And what my God had failed to do, I shall do alone.

A stab in the dark as vengeance turns into cards mine to deal,

’Til my gaping soul has had its fill.

A mother’s heart is a cradle, still, even as jewelled child

Is laid to rest under bedrock of forgotten years.

She may board a train to run away from claws and wild,

To flee from biblical anger and bloodied tears.

But when the whistle blows and the smoke falls behind,

She will pretend these blood-soaked hands can still pray,

That pure remains child’s sepulchre in her mind.

But she knows that all traces of soul have withered away.

What use is redemption, love, when I cannot have you?

And yet, I hear your whisper from otherworld begging—

Daughter pleading mother, daughter saving mother—

Is there really more than this wretched grief of losing you?

My little love, help me say goodbye.

Hope you’re sleeping well with the sweetest lullaby.

Little love, forgive the blood that I shed,

And lift the cruelty out from my heart and from my head.

Help me leave behind my baggage

At the next train station

We’ll stop by.

And when I board, I’ll look back and see

That dead bodies are no longer hiding

Behind my eyes.