Most stories for children
are insanely cruel.
Filled with baby-eating witches,
and lawless fledglings flung
to the winds, we whisper our
reassurances that their worst
nightmares will never be real
so long as they trust us
unconditionally.

Most stories for children
are insanely cruel.
Filled with baby-eating witches,
and lawless fledglings flung
to the winds, we whisper our
reassurances that their worst
nightmares will never be real
so long as they trust us
unconditionally.
It’s years since I slithered
From the antediluvian muck
And took my first steps
In a reeking miasma.
Prying open eyes
Unaccustomed to light,
I recognised, first, evil.
I awoke to enemies.
I set out with purpose.
They must be dispatched hastily
For the good of the world.
I drove a stake through the heart.
A rake across the face.
Forced hands into wood shredders.
Poured molten lead through ears.
Drug bone saws across the crotch.
Water boarded with acid.
Castrated and then decapitated.
Immersed in boiling oil.
My knees crushed the trachea.
A sledge hammer smashed the spine.
I yanked fingernails from their beds.
I opened and salted wounds.
I disregarded feelings.
I disrespected wishes.
I locked grudges indefinitely.
But all my efforts have failed.
The monsters, demons, and evil spirits
Are still with me.
If you wish to stay,
You must get to know them.