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| ECHOLALIA Black and blue, such difficult colors, hard to cover with cosmetics and even harder to explain away with fictitious mishaps everyone sees through just as they could see through your mothers many accidents. My God how you loathed her for those lies, almost as much as you hated him. You knew you would never end up here in front of the mirror, painting over loves defacement, rehearsing fictions handed down from mother to child like treasured family heirlooms, trying to believe yet another promise of reform, afraid that the tawdry hues which sully your reflection might be the futures primary colors. |
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