"I like pulling out your baby teeth." Looking down at the twelve-year-old girl, String-to-finger. Scalping her bones. Shunts in the brain. No remorse to the little one. Growing. Closing. Losing her sense of wonder. Why wander anymore? It’s safer now. Shit-sack of bones in a bow, Sets it in front of you. I don’t want to remember how bad it felt To manually turn their heads; To walk them to their deaths. Burning their iris', I put her to bed. You’re safe now.