First I found the fundamental flaw: for thou claim-ed to be mine foster mother.
Mentor, and friend—Yet thine actions instead are an exercise in androgyny.
Thou profess neither hot nor cold, yet thy deceit comes off as a dogs vomit.
Under thine unctuous umbrage I’ve earned unease.
Twain we work, sowers in the field, yet thy seeds are cast upon the sand.
Thy sickle drips, and not with the blood of the vine. I see th’art eager for the kill.
Call me callus. Concoct thy counsel to cast me off, craven carbuncle.
Care I not. For She Who Sits on High knows my worth.
I shall not perish, for thy counterfeit kindness is a mere clot in my tributary.
Keeper of thy brother? Better king of the kappas! Crawl with thy cruel kedge.
For river demon thou art, like Charon who drags his oar upon the keel.
Killer and kindred alike art thou to him who sails the Styx.
Yonder strife of thine be ever behind me.
Over mountains of chastisement I lay thee down.
Upon the blade thou set for me.
Read Moore 