Chapter in a book a bout a play in performance

Stripped naked on a mattress, kneeling, across her back, in red letters, father, mother, lovers, real and dead.

Time makes its way to passion felt heart and soul triggered into graves waiting names and places yet to be determined, who measures statue, who bleeds the soul dry, who works the body for gain, who owns the needles, pleasure an the pain, who comes for me, I am so alone

In the sweet of me I see all the close friends have gather to take a turn, my body their pleasure, my heart in shame, nothing ever escapes for free, all the ghosts of my mind
Gather about me to give and take their fill and I like an observer survive it all

Oh mother what have you done, gift of beauty tore into pieces of pictures in minds screaming. Passion met, souls burned, when is my turn, mother when is my turn to feel,
Father save me from the pit in which my mother lives, snakes and vipers surround yet
You free me, late but you free me

Why did you wait so long, come take what you need, it is all I have to give you, my body and mind.

Typewriter just clicks a sad lullaby