Little,

oh, little

lamb liked 

to run, hide under the

cabinets as his parents played 

with their gun. One shot. Two shot.  

Three shot. Four. Mothers body hitting the floor.

Father Wolf has no mercy, his heart dirty. He is violence 

without an ending, the spew of comments with no blessing. 

The little lamb grows his father’s ears- born from his horrific fears. 

Blame the father not the son, all he knew was to run. Oh, but, 

Mr. Wolf saw his preys and let the blood spray. Oh mother, 

mother, your son’s gone insane, he eats the remains. Mr. Wolf’s just 

like you and me, only daring to be free. Little lamb only wants a hand, 

but you left him to suffocate under sand. The sands of time, let them 

tell lies. So when you see little lamb there, blood drenched and unaware.

Let you cry wolf, to the man you dared not look. Little lamb not born 

with a knife, and yet he chose to murder his wife.

Again and again, he stabbed with all his might, 

till she couldn’t put up any single fight. Like 

father, like son, little lamb forgot how to run. 

Little lamb turned to man, fought love with 

violence and changed this into than. Watch 

as the little lamb grows fur, gray and sharp,

to be no longer like mother were. His face vile and deformed, see little lamb 

who has been transformed. He is violence without an ending, the spew of comments 

with no blessing. Little lamb cannot be saved, your revulsion won't be swayed. Until you 

watch the lamb shake, shocked or put at the stake. Maybe poisoned in your little chair, for daring 

to breathe the same air. You decide his murderous intent, angry at the destined descent. Your palms are soft with sovereignty, his are harsh with poverty. You pull the trigger, watch as his body falls with vigor. Will you kill him again? Like the day you left him then. You didn’t let him stain your sanctity, leaving behind your humanity. Watch as you drink your pure, filtered water, the true wolf behind the slaughter.