polite society frightens me
Here is the house where Death lived,
masquerading as the Mrs.

always gave that smile
with nothing underneath,
asked after your health.

her make-up, her purfume, preservatives,
she pickled herself and did up her hair.

Always threw parties,
and decorated her house for christmas.
gave us all sorts of little candies
and pinched our cheeks.

sitting in her castle,
smiling her hatred at the world,
dealing death, somehow, to all she touched.

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