Monday,
The day I wake to work.
The day that makes me realise,
How short life is.
I dred Mondays,
Yet I am safe,
Safe from harm.
While I walk to work,
Thousands of children,
Babies are raped.
They cry, they scream,
But thats just part of the fun,
Sadistic fun.
Its power,
Deciding who lives, who dies,
Who cheers who cries.
The first thing a baby does,
When it comes from the womb is cry,
Cry for joy to be alive,
Not cry in pain as its penetrated.
Not have its cord cut by a rapist.
Not be filmed and made money with.
And why can't thease people find someone their own age.
Why rape children locked in a cage.
Is it to feel powerful.
Like some big bad monster.
The truth is they aren't monsters,
Just sad pathetic men with no real work for Monday.