Empathy: The Child

Be still, my darling;
his eyes see
everything -
and his reeling
hands will
vice your little
throat the
very first time he
sees you cry.
For this is the
beauty of abuse;
the terror and
mourning bruises
he executed like a kiss -
and the pearlish
teeth he took.
Oh, be still, my
royal muse -
be still beneath
the boards of
our floor.