The mother.

Rage. Damage. Screams. Hatred. All silent and silently evolving. All locked up. All hidden inside. Hidden from the outer world. From the fuming, noisy world. From the angry world of busy people. All stacked up into piles in the corners of a round and curvy body. All neatly stocked for a never-ending season of anger. All nurtured by the dullness of a life of deadly routines. All covered up by colourful, fragrant chemicals. All perfectly shaped and arranged into what this world calls a woman.
A woman that boils on the inside, but smiles on the outside. A woman whose soul was sliced into pieces and eaten up. A hollow body whose heartbeat was forcefully replaced by silent screams of suffocating.
A dead yet breathing ghost of a long lost mother.