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Children of the Broken
A perfect family.
Wait, what is that behind those closed doors?
What is that behind our backs?
A body hitting the floor.
Body parts packed in sacks.
Speaking ill of others.
Whether about someone's mother or father.
The children of the broken
have finally spoken.
With the actions,
they cut their family into fractions.
Halves.
Fourths.
Eighths.
Twelfths.
Sixteenths.
The bodies give one last twitch.
One last sign of life.
Eyes filled with blood lust.
Eyes filled with strife.
"I'm sick...
of you."
They say over the corpses' dead faces with eyes of white hues.
-Snow that Flutters down like Feathers