If writing was a drug, I’d undoubtedly be an addict. If words were an ocean, I’d long be drowning, yet not gasping for air. Because when you have passion, it consumes you. And you don’t mind.

The ink in your pen becomes blood. Arteries are the inkcartridge, directly linked to your heart. The blood flow is an indicator of life. Such bloody words. Such living words. A tale of blood, for in it we find life. Yet in this tale of death, somehow, life is induced.

I watched you walk into the darkness of the night. I watched the sky swallow you. I watched you die, as you put yourself on a throne too big for you.

You are the colour of my mother’s favourite pain. The nightmare she endures because she’s convinced it’s her utopia. The addiction she dislikes but struggles to give up.

Until she finally goes to rehab. Wisdom guides her feet while her heart screams no. It’s a gruelling sound. A deafening scream. Like a mother during childbirth. It reminds her of childbirth.

Don’t go. Her heart stutters. Stuttering because the heart isn’t broken, it’s shattered.

Like our home. Mother took the pieces to church every Sunday hoping religion would be the glue to put them back together. Meanwhile, at home, she sat beneath the rain of verbal abuse, hoping they would water her garden. Hoping they make a new Eden.

But death seldom bring life unless through Christ. So instead, the torrential rain drowned the flowers; almost ruined the seeds.

And she watched. She saw. She saw them dying. Saw them crying. Saw them calling.

Why.

Why did you stay when you had every chance to go.

Why did you choose death when you knew you could have life.

Her response was, us.

We needed him.

But what you didn’t tell me Mama, was the truth.

You were scared to leave. You wanted to stay. You knew nothing else.

You never told me when we give our feelings supremacy they have the strength to break us. They can unknowingly mislead us to false truth sand create false gods.

You never told me. But you taught me falling was a dangerous thing to do with love, because the repercussions of the fall could be fatal.