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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required When I was a mere half grown boy There was one thing that brought me joy Animals; silken and fleecy Like look much better lying still and peaceful. Hide them in the store cupboards Or push their bodies below the creaky staircase Mother don't look, Mother don't fret If she knew what I was doing, she'd have me dead. But one day I heard a scream My dearest looked upon my eyes a'gleam "O young boy, what have you done?" Holding a lifeless mouse beneath her soft thumb. Mother didn't like it, Mother was afraid She slapped a hard ruler across my knuckle blade I thought to my self, this was a brutish deed Perhaps Mother would also like to bleed? I drew out my Bowie knife, a smile on my face Where her heart would be, I put the blade in its place She fell to the ground without a moments hesitation Her pretty face now red as a carnation. Mother wasn't moving, Mother wasn't warm. The former pinkness of her cheeks had become whitish and forlorn The only trace of colour left Was a trail of blood, leading up to her chest. I couldn't bear to see her face in such a state With a swipe of my handkerchief, off the blood came After all it was not proper For such a winsome face to be tinted with pain. The sight of the red-stained handkerchief in the night Could have given anybody a stage worthy fright But O, not me, I found the sight alluring! Her pasty body next to me, I writhed my hands in jovial mourning. Mother, dear Mother, most precious to me Your body now rests where you formerly slept Instead of your insides being blood and hot lungs It's brimming with crisp cotton, some fabric for your tongue.
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