by Nick Gisburne
Remembering her hands around their necks
She puts her precious maniacs to bed
On each, a tortured glyph, a tainted X
A thick, unsightly symbol, where they bled
Her children are a family of dust
Alive, she found them tedious to tame
But now she feels no anguish, no disgust
The passion she possesses shows no shame
The last, the girl, the quickest of them all
A fickle-tempered fury, hot as night
Surreal to see this dirty, silent sprawl
A shadow, still connected to the light
Their mother does not recognise regret
She knows that she will suffer. But, not yet
