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Mommy's Little Precious.Shooting and bombingAnd slashing and kickingAnd burning and beatingAnd stamping and killingAnd maiming and hurtingAnd knifing and punchingAnd dancing. Arms raisedOver the fallen,Broken bodiesOf his foes.On the other side of the WindowsWhere Mummy doesn't goWhile she drinks a glass Of Sauvignon Blanc downstairsHer well behaved boyPlays in his room, alone.As a childhood withersOn the untended vineOf conversation and connection.The baby sitterDoesn't care about him.He's caught the 4.0 ArmageddonSpecial Serial BusTo a place where Darker fruit grows.Try not to weepAs you reapWhat you sow.
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