Sweven

Cipher
Shadow mothers make shallow embrace. Filthy hands make feeble homes. My own hands can not come clean. Ring of black clogged pores clots my palm. Mother shrugs. I push out the dirt, rinse the filth away. But look now. Life lines have deformed into triangle with one hat, one tie, one blazing eye. Mother shrugs. I try scratch the cipher away. Out, damned shape. The deformation will not be undone.