Loving Mind Games of Narcissistic Madness
and other Misdirected Road Kill
She loves her children
truly,
dearly,
she does with all her heart and souless soul,
an abyss of conscience.
like a female preying mantas, consumates,
then consumes her mate
toxic, like the daily bottle of wine disolving
her liver.
Mother is happy. Her hands shake.
She delights to play the eldest against
the youngest one day,
the reverse, the next.
They are her little play things,
puppets and mimes
speechless and helpless
competing for their mother’s love
trying to please
never quite perfect enough
never quite good enough
Mother laughed, always, unite
than divide and conquer.
Triangulate!
Yearning,
“She favoured me today
I’m the golden child.”
“She knows I’m the special one,
not her.”
“She loves only me.”
“I love her. I hate her”
“We will never leave.”
The three musketeers, they smile,
they hate covered with a
veneer of emotions,
a facade of joy
to the depths of deception.
The wealthy lawyer slyly got out,
another woman I’m told.
The teacher learned his lessons well.
Sadly, the retired bus driver,
well he
never really knew what hit him.
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