description of the feeling, to the actions i shall take
sadly, quiet children do not an author make

a hatred running deep
shredding flowers in her sleep

a doll balanced on a string
a nightingale to hurt to sing

the lovéd child, so sad, so small
lets the lovers realize they aren't so tall

tattoo the crescent moon, shape the scar on her back
the jester thinks himself clever, prepared for an easy attack

a couplet to a puppet, that doll who sings on strings
nothing but a child shredding blossoms in the spring