Dearest Mother
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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