Little Sister

The bystander is self-centered,
a bleeding heart's betrayer.
They're ugly to the vermin's vermin
and kept unkempt through sermons
of the little sky we breathe away.

Meant for righteous slaughter -
not the merchant but the daughter,
whose slavery to love forgets her.
It's a mystery that she knows better
the hearts of hounds perceived.

Heaving with rapacious complacency,
beasts rain away on empty doorsteps.
Appetites inclined to live alive
are not concerned if they survive.
The vermin taught the martyrdom.

Keys are crafted witlessly designed
to portals that obedience resigns -
it's not the daughters - but the merchants I mind:
victims to beauty and the social bind.
Rotten hounds are always hungry.