Visions of your death plague me. They haunt my sanity until the thought invades my brain; pillaging my mind, body, and soul. My entire essence is engulfed by this foul miasma — the causal link to the implosion of my chest. Collapsing into itself — my body takes on the topography of a great waterfall; at the center a deadly whirlpool. The weight of 10 sets of hands descend onto my throat as they clasp ever tighter.
I am alone. Even you have left me, but you are still mine — will always be.
Live, my son. Play, my son. Be who you are meant to be. Forever my baby.