The Tangled Stature of a Mother_

What image would you get?

The familiar Red Queen on the cards? 

That has its doubled face on although you know it's the same red queen?

Yes, the queen surely portraits the subject well that she has the double faces,

the yeses and nos.

Tyrant, massacre, confused.

And yes, but it just part of the subject. Not all.

In the story of Frankenstein, it was tangled & twisted.

Tragedy of all tragic.

Almost contrary of every relationship between creator & creation would have.

The Creation, Frankenstein.

He was never a perfect layout, never neat and never complete.

It's to say, a result of his creator's psycho sickness and with his sickening self-torturing

sadism toils. Nevertheless, he betrayed the toils, 

he betrayed himself and abandoned the 

work that he had contributed with affections.

It all mirrored & reflected on Frankenstein's twisted mind.

The restless daringly prepare for the end at every second with

the haunted pain that his creator left him.

That how it terribly surpassed every ordinary & happy relationship

between every reasonably creator & creation.  

I comprehend as i read it long ago.

And never felt related at any point neither with more affection unto it.

But just recently, it stuck.

Upon a nick of a very moment, i felt it.

in an anonymous way.

It was almost resulting on the relationship i had.

Years & years gone by, i never realized why or how it were to be.

but tranquilly i passed through, gotten used.

I gotta clue, at least for now. what was it.

It's like something you made on your very own hands.

That you just won't get satisfied about. 

And you just can't stop criticizes it. 

The more you criticize that work of your own, the more you hated it.

Until you can't bear to see and destroy it.

that' how i relates.

of the story Frankenstein, and with the story of one anomaly relationship i had.

throughout the insanity years...

As the work itself, growing up with violence and abusive acts,

countless times i cried in the dark corner, helpless.

Mute for days.

Only have oneself's shadow surrounding & mirror image 

of the same old cold expression at the aftermath.

Irony things about how widely spread the media bout how 

violence childhood affecting on one's life later. 

And it's cold that i couldn't deny the truth of being one of them.

I had enough.

The more i get the closer to the finale. It just keep pushing.

Like a balloon before the needling air, dense, thick, suffocating.

Don't take a guess on how much it affected me.

Don't ask me why i love Gray, vague images, leaden hues..

Or contrary Pink.

Nor the hues of Red, Black and White.

And don't guess why i'm having all these nerves & personalities neither.

If you called them awesome, beautiful, or even awful, slutty personality.

be it...

That's how raw i needed it.

That's how twisted i am.

maybe now. Or maybe for ever.

I'm not regretting any of these,

as it all part of me that shaping whoever i am today.

But thankful? not sure...

I couldn't think or tell.

Someday, perhaps.

And for life, 

Living no fairy tale wonders,

 I shall not practice the art of the Red Queen. 

N_ist