( not doing a poem cause yall know I aint rock like that.)

The more I dont hug my mother the more I see her age showing.

The more I see it hurt.

The more I see myself growing.

Growing without her.

Soon, without her guidance.

Without her motherly affections to keep my going everyday.

So I stopped spending so many hours mindlessely scrolling with no avail, to find that I much rather enjoy talking and laughing with my mother.

Oh, what a sound.. play it again.

But more often than not, I feel so much regret.

I hardly can face my own mother without feeling swayed.

Like air sucked from my body all at once, threatning the collapse of my legs.

So instead, I really enjoy just hanging out with her, just as I did when I was younger.

Thirteen now, and many more numbers to go.

Yet through all, she’s the fire in my life.

Not my deadbeat father.

Or even the O amazing dog.

So every day we go for a drive, or hike, or walk, or run, or laugh, or talk.

I love every one, yet the one I love most, is when I’m able to just talk with her.

To tell her things i’m incapable of with anyone else.

She’s there, no matter the circumstances, and for that i’m forever grateful.

So, now, hand in hand, worlds happily colldied as mother and daughter, we skip through life, through the bad stuff.

We will never be separated, i’m sure.

She held my hand, and breathed her last next to me.

Smiling.

Red roses on your grave, mother.

One by one these bloodhounds just keep coming.

But now rest.

Sleep in that casket that was already made.

It sent goosebumps along my skin to see her once fiery eyes, once healthy and sweet self, dissapate like a finger snap.

What cannibals, to eat from such a plentiful supper?

Seeing her eyes no more glassy, but more of a matte color.

Lifeless in every way, even love.

Good luck killing me now, because I already know where i’ll be.

Hand in hand, Time was always Running out.