I have no rights to Naruto

Rating: R/M, for brief and non-explicit sexual content, insanity.

She Loves

All she ever says are not quite lies,
as she rests her hands on her lap,
and smiles.
She looks like a photograph,
glowing like golden morning,
lips curved in grin,
eyes laughing at nothing.

He wonders if he even loves her;
his wife;
the women who lives in his house
-their house-
And sleeps in his bed
-their bed-
And gave birth to his children
-their children-

He doubts it.

Their children sit on her lap,
eagerly soaking up her sweetness;
her candy-coated words
that are not quite lies.

They call for her,
the words awkward in their mouths.
They want for her.

'Mother! Mother!'

She is Mother.
And she loves her children,
And Mother and Father
love each other,
like they promised.
Too bad love means nothing to him.

Too bad Father decides to prove it to himself.

His kiss is cold on her lips,
on her neck,
His fingers are cold in her hair,
on her breasts,
but she's beginning to enjoy the numb.

His seed is cold as it
slithers inside of her;
the pain/pleasure that ties them there,

His sweat is cold
on her pale skin,
and she shivers
with a lopsided grin.

The nightmares return to consume her,
lying tangled in the sheets beside him.

The morning comes, red and warm,
and he is gone already.
She lies there alone, but
their bed is empty.

She can't remember why she's smiling -
oh yes!
Because she loves him,
and loves their children.

She is Mother.
She loves.

A few months pass, and her stomach bulges out,
and she feels a little sick,
but that's nothing new.
She runs her fingers over the
roundness that holds her child.

And she smiles.

Their first (living) children,
a girl of two, and a boy of one,
try to talk to their unborn sibling
through tight-knit wall of flesh.
Mother laughs, and says It can hear them.

He can hear every word.

She begins waking up
in the middle of the dry desert night,
trying to cry out, while
the images in her head strangle her.

But it's hard to scream
when your choking on a smile.

It hurts.
She tries to pretend it doesn't,
but It is still there,
clawing at her insides.
Even now, she tries to love It through the pain,
but that's nothing new.

Mother tells him.
Father looks away,
His gaze cold upon her.

She's forgetting to smile.
She's forgetting to love.

Her guise is slipping,
as she sits in her chair by the window,
never alone, because It is always there;
Inside of her.

And each day it gets a little bit worse.
She can no longer play with her children,
but tells them she loves them.
Father does too, but
the words hit the air and fall like stones,
rippling the waters of their almost perfect world.

Every night she lies in bed,
waiting for his cold body to join them.
Her eyes are wide in her sleeplessness, fearful
of the phantoms that lurk in her dreams.

It continues to devour her,
eating it's way out,
and she screams,
numbingly overwhelmed by the torment.
And her head keeps aching, pounding,
and she's trying to remember what
she was going to say, but
she just smiles emptily,
as it swallows a little more of what's left of her soul.

And it's getting almost too hard to love them anymore.

Finally, the day comes,
when water trickles down from between her creamy legs,
and sharp pain is the precursor for
It's arrival.
Between each contraction,
she laughs,
and wonders if it's worth loving
the cold and the hate
that has destroyed her.

She can't decide.

And she screams so loud her
throat feels raw, as It crawls out of her,
coated in vermilion stickiness.
Her blood.

Gazing at it,
she smiles

She is It's Mother.

'Gaara' her slick tongue says.

And her body gives up,
and her heart gives out,
and her soul gives way to the deluge
that has threatened to crush her for so long.

She loved the sick little lie
that was their love;
that created their son;
that was used to gave life to
a bringer of death.

He started with her,
and it's hard to stop when
the blood tastes so familiar,
and all he has is her photograph,
smiling at him.

She is Mother.

But even now.

She loves.