She's toxic.
I can't fix her.
but....I....love her.
Her words are venemous, dangerous,
poisonous,
I still go....to talk to her.

she smiles when she sees me....
opens up her heart....
and the darkness.... it..all..overflows....
when she talks to me...
when she so freely shares with me...
her insecure, anxious words.

she tells me all bad things about my own father...
she sees all big bad faults in him,
but not in her son, my brother,
who does worse, and puts the darkness in her heart,
steals her joy and make her worry,
poke her wounds
so they never heal.

She lives in her world of pain,
fifty times intensified by her own imagination,
and she pours all that on me when I say 'hello mom'.

She does not know,
how pessimistic, how toxic ,
her words are to herself
or to me.
she...