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"I like pulling out your baby teeth."
Looking down at the twelve-year-old girl,
String-to-finger.
Scalping her bones. Shunts in the brain.
No remorse to the little one.
Growing. Closing. Losing her sense of wonder.
Why wander anymore? It’s safer now.
Shit-sack of bones in a bow,
Sets it in front of you.
I don’t want to remember how bad it felt
To manually turn their heads;
To walk them to their deaths.
Burning their iris', I put her to bed.
You’re safe now.

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