Persecution

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[ I can not; but we can]

I heard the echoing of my own maniacal laughter, and the frantics of screaming that came soon after; It was mine.

Placed on its floor tiling and the tips of the fingers drawn in extending to trace its outlines of the cracks left between. 

I saw her, my mother, through the glimpse between the fabric appearing hair draped before the face, sitting on the bench directly in front view. 

She stayed at ten feet to more with blush worn on the cheeks, like a porcelain doll, her feet  placed in solidity on its flooring. 

The crease of her face when drawn to a smile, the dimples and pearl whites of her teeth; the sight of me. 

Her purse sat about her lap with the few of fingers twirled in its strap, and the scent of her hair traveling from untraceable breeze; gently. 

   ___

A dimmed lighting that was cast from the top and the acknowledge to the feet of myself, accompanied

by the piercing of glass; bottoms of flesh impaired. 

What collected itself in blood gathered to the draining of centre portions to the floor compounding watered mixture. 

    ___

I heard its clank; to turn without losing sight of her and knowing its use without the knowledge of what it is, 

Clinched the hand and brought it closer.

The light glimmering from its edge; the maniacals echoing again through an oppressive wail, turned to the turmoil; 

its carving of face, gashing the flesh and glaring at her from the length she still sat. 

The display on her own, the creases removed, sudden panic of distraught; 

Smearing at that the chunks and pieces from removal; an inane action of my behalf. 

    ___

Her feet shifted with swiftness; a child in need - her own. 

The purse fell in a stagnant perception, with a bursting on the floor, incessant razors poured from its holding. 

She gathered from my hands, the torn and worn, shattered blade. 

The feel and touch of the distancing skin; organism from the one is the two, harrowing; together. 

The honey to circulate her Iris, captivation and speechless. 

      ___

" I will look like you", she spoke. 

She cut from her face, imitation flesh from my own used by the blade, I wield. 

The streaming of cosmetics and agony; the laughter became two fold - 

Her and I.