The Boy Who Killed His Own Mother

“Do you know who he is?” My brother whispered in my ear, Pointing to a boy on the screen Whose eyes showed no fear He looked plump, he looked pale, Forehead trickling with uncertainty, His face told a familiar tale, And stirred something in my tummy How could a boy stumble into darkness, Where oil pastels fill every void, Where my dolls could prance, and I rule a kingdom, Where even, down a hole, Alice could find joy Did a moody-eyed man sweep in, Swinging his watch before his eyes, So all he sees is a whirlpool of hate, And the urge to pick up a knife? Or did the wicked witch of the East cast a spell So his devils could wear a disguise Play with his brain until he sees pain In keeping his fists by his sides Mum says games can have gore So maybe the boy’s heart was tainted He wanted to try beyond his console Until regrets could never be deleted Maybe nothing really happened The boy simply wanted more Ice creams for breakfast No nagging to ignore Then what happens next? Who would tuck him into bed? Sing him a lullaby And hug the nightmares dead How would he smile in the morning, Eggs and pancakes on the plate Cross the streets and find the lost Get to school not too late And how would he close his eyes, Take deep breaths and sigh, Without having someone as close With whom he’d get by Still I wonder why he did it, Why he would even choose, To hear a loved one screaming From whom he got no bruise I look to my mum, in my TP binoculars, Ironing my dad’s shirts, She’s heard the news but her hands don’t shake, This could never happen to her My brother returns to his homework, And I to my clutter, I don’t stop thinking about my class friend, The boy who killed his own mother