• Look at the b*****d child,
    picking off the petals
    from such a beautiful flower
    asking "doesn't my own mother love me?"

    A crooked smile,
    placed upon his face
    from the scars from his back
    to the dried up tears on the floor.

    The throbbing blue veins
    underneath those pale white arms
    underneath those blood red cuts
    what has the world come to?

    From the blood
    and the bodies
    surrounding the child
    not flinching to his piercing scream.

    Lying dead on the floor.

    One by one
    the petals drop to the floor
    a demonic laugh
    "no one loves a b*****d child."