tall glass of dysfunction

our relationship is forming bumps under my skin,

flaking from my scalp

churning in my colon

aching in my jaw

floating in and out of my field of vision

i may not survive being your child

to come out the other side of this unscathed would be a feat of rebirth

i am cramped and crawling mad as hell through this cramped space

blindly trusting that my air supply wont be cut off by your overbearing pressure

you may not survive being my mother

damp with perspiration and gasping for breath

slurring to be understood through a medicated fog

regret leaves you hemorrhaging