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Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
I lived with my mother since my divorce
Not a circumstance I would eagerly endorse
Every night our arguments swirling
She sent my wounded heart whirling
My mother died during one stormy day
After the funeral, I kept my heart at bay
I went to her room to clear things away
In her closet found two dolls dressed in gowns of red
I remembered when we got them for her four poster bed
My mother insisted one look like her, the other like me
She said, "A very loving idea, don't you agree?"
Each had rosy blushes on their porcelain faces
They appeared ready to go to fancy places
Their eyes of blue glass rimmed with lashes black
Mother chose those red dresses from the fancy rack
Tender smiles perched on each doll's ruby lips
In my mother's stories we went on amazing trips
I lifted the dolls and placed them near her lacy pillow
Two poppets in the shadow of the old weeping willow
That night the dolls rose as dark shadows fell
Their lips in hateful sneers of malevolent hell
Eyes of fire and hearts filled with loathing lust
Seeing them fighting turned my heart to dust
My doll reared up and ripped off my mother's head
How did the dollies know I had poisoned her dead?
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