Autumn her season. Yellow her color.

Pressure the reason. From you her mother.

Forcing her to try harder. By acting as a martyr.

Just to make her feel guilty. Now who's feeling guilty?

May your heart stay heavy. As though fat women of a bevy.

Are laying on it.

May you wish to die. For all the tears you made her cry.

While she strained for perfection.

May you go blind. So all you'll see it what's in your mind.

The tattooed images of her limp, bloody body.