Handfuls of them scattered around,

in liquid form there's no doubt that she'd drown. 

Her warmth appears in the shape of a stray,

and even though I love her, I find it hard to say.

Away for 2 months, then visits for four;

sometimes I miss her, other times I'm unsure. 

Every ounce of her effort burns by the fire in my heart,

because every time she leaves, the flames irefully jumpstart. 

The water of her words don't make it less hard

when your mind has been conditioned to act as a guard. 

Gifted life to 7 angels, but only 1 would stay;

when you're submerged in bad habits, you inhale toxic waste.

Wings become grey and our halos decay,

it is hard to stay pure when you live life this way.

Maybe she finds comfort in being away;

But that would be one of my mother's mistakes.