Sometimes I dream
of a leather nursery rhyme book
bounded together with a secret lock.
To keep inside the stories
that were written by a sickened man.
Who found pleasure out of twisting
the joyous rhythms in which the tale
were meant to be told.


Sometimes I dream
I've found the key to unlock
the forbidden book,
and as I turn the pages the
stories fall in little bits and pieces.
They collect themselves, running down the table
clicking into a beautiful puzzle.
Each with its own beautiful soul.


Jack has lit himself on fire
jumping over the candlestick,
running around like a maniac
with the devil circling his eyes.
Humpty Dumpty fell, cracked his shell,
and little vines began to grow.
Trapping him against the ground
as he laughs his curdling laugh
that boils the blood and soul.
Miss Mumphet sat on her Tuffet,
and drank her tea with the poisonous spider
who marvelously sat down beside her.


Mother Goose rules the kingdom
with her golden staff and silver cane.
She throws her magic in purple fog
over the troubled land.
Jack and Jill look over the hill
with  gory eyes and aggression.
Licking their lips in great satisfaction
for having the world at their feet
to conquer the fairytales in strong defeat.


And then there's one rhyme
I never heard before
of a green eyed girl with shaggy hair
that falls around her face.
Her one white fang punctures her lip,
blood spills out in black,
but people say she was once a happy girl
who's manic slowly drew her mad.


Sometimes I dream
of a horrible world
colored with the chaos of nursery rhymes
infected with unsettling venom
in a jigsaw story book,
but sometimes I dream
that I in fact
have gone a little mad.