Mére soeur



dodo, matin, café, 
Il chante, il court, il ne veut pas
Son fruit, des calins, il grandit
La journée à peine commencée et déjà
une chape de beton t emmène vers le fond 
Tu constates que tu trembles
Tu crois bien faire
Tu te noies dans tes livres
Tu t'agrippes aux mots comme
un alcoolo au cou de la dernière bouteille
A l affut de la cuite 
des connaissances, du secret de comment
De comment,
on élève ce foutu d enfant.

Tu happes l air la bouche mi fermée 
malgré ta tete au dessus de l eau 
Un film etirable se colle à ta vie
Traits tirés, le déni
Tu eccopes, mais tu chavires
les claques, les coups, les ecchymoses 
de ta jeunesse ne s estomperont jamais
cette sensation que le sort  
s'acharne sur toi
tu te sens noyée dans une timbale d eau
Tu donnes des putain de coups
de pieds, mais les parois ne cèdent
pas
Ce monde avance, tu dois suivre, 
Être à la page, être une bonne mère
Malgré les circonstances
Ou à cause, d elles, tu sais plus,
mais un pied ankylosé devant l autre ne suffit 
pas

Ta croix trainée, des sillons comme des plaies 
La surface si fine qu il suffit 
à chaque fois d'un accroc
pour que le pus suintant jaillit
À salir ton petit monde
Lacher prise te paraît impossible
Si on lache, on sombre
A jamais...

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