Can You See Me Now?

One; wake me when.
He picks himself up from the floor at the sound of thunder,
Wiping eyes black as death wearing a three week crust.
His tiny hands stroking the gun that killed his beautiful mother.
A rape baby, still a good baby, too good for this.

Two; march me on.
Baby stumbles barefoot ahead of the cock in his back.
Rights are rights, but not like this, says he, just six years old.
As he's goaded, ever-fearing innocence stolen like he's seen.
Marching one-two, ready to kill at a pervert's command.

Three; lay me down.
"Horror," baby cries with his eyes, left without a single voice.
The gun in his tiny arms breaking his ribs in recoil,
As he inadvertently breaks those of his best friends from school
Just a block away for play, too close for blood-hungry men.

Four; march me on.
His little eyes glued to the belt of breasts his violator wears,
Swinging to and fro, thumping his knees and his boots,
Sliced harshly for wear; offering them as a hilarious snack
Trophies to the men who rape regardless of age or gender.

Five; lay me down.
Baby cries into the dirt cradling his tiny face lovingly
As something completely loveless works hard into his backside.
Bleeding where no boy need bleed without want, barrel in the face
Fear and desire pouring out of the bullet hole in his sweet little head.