When the old hag lay strewn on the lawn
Her daughter suffocated by the fiery wedding dress she had always wanted
And the daughter of her daughter plagued by a hypochondriacs rigor mortis
When the oldest one finally died
Her three sons stood stranded in that painful hour forever
As a continuous slap in the face for something they neither caused nor saw
Destined to be a living symbol of that painful day
And nothing more
No comments:
Post a Comment