I killed a young child in the morning,
\nIts blood juicing out,
\nFaking spirals on the amber rug.
\nSome shredded skin hung
\nLike superstrings in the air,
\nExplanatory but not affecting a thing.
\nAnd my brow furrowed rarely,
\nMy lips also faintly licking,
\nA miasma of emotion,
\nI guess,
\nStruck me as I looked at this wriggling little egg,
\nComprehension just out of its reach.<\/p>\n
It had done me some harm,
\nHours previously,
\nIn an incident involving some stewed apple.
\nOf course,
\nI didn\u2019t appreciate that.
\nOf course,
\nRetribution had to come.
\nI would say though that I had come to admire my delivery.
\nIt was sure and precise and beautiful –
\nAnd as I absorbed today\u2019s results
\nI felt just a touch of emotion towards myself.<\/p>\n
I threw the four year old on a log fire
\nHoping to warm myself up
\nAnd the room quickly filled
\nWith that heady odor that I found so intoxicating.
\nBurning flesh.
\nEverything\u2019s going to be all right.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I killed a young child in the morning, Its blood juicing out, Faking spirals on the amber rug. Some shredded skin hung Like superstrings in the air, Explanatory but not affecting a thing. And my brow furrowed rarely, My lips … Continue reading