deepundergroundpoetry.com
Bastards in Caskets
Dead baby in a crib of thorns,
One last spittle of blood on a dirty bib,
He won’t cry anymore.
Mommy doesn’t feel bad,
Didn’t deserve an accidents’ torture,
She won’t suffer anymore.
And Daddy doesn’t care either way.
One last spittle of blood on a dirty bib,
He won’t cry anymore.
Mommy doesn’t feel bad,
Didn’t deserve an accidents’ torture,
She won’t suffer anymore.
And Daddy doesn’t care either way.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 0
comments 5
reads 201
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.