There are no children to count glittering stars with,
There are no children to dig pits of blurry memories.
All I see here is you in the midst of skulls,
I see blood drool from your mouth,
I hear strange shriek, of discomfort,
From somewhere around your belly.
All I see here is you in a dark room
Where fate hangs in cobwebs,
I see you sit alone with a dim torch,
I see you search for a future in your palms,
I see your tongue mutter strange voices
As the walls slap them against my cheek as fainting echoes.
There are no children in this place
To run around in circles and lines,
To run errands into streets of bizarre,
So there are no children that would grow into animals here,
No children here will file their fingers as sharp claws
To write messages of revenge, of their tormented past,
On the clustered faces of their dear friends,
There are no children in this room
To walk down the aisle without eyes,
There are no children to sing of sorrows and tomorrows,
There are no lyricists here to write poems of hope.
All I see is your black attire,
All I see is your black skin,
All I see is a picture of you troubling my eyeballs,
I see you stand here and there,
I see you frown and smile, now and then,
I see you bend the glories in your palm,
I see you tear them into rented halves,
I see you shove them down your spines,
I see you eat our children, all at once.
There are no children in this home,