On Becoming a Murderess

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the killing of cockroaches

The floor is littered with little corpses
I am still on alert
Ears perked
Waiting for the slightest sound
That is not a roof rat or a windblown leaf

Innocent ones have been trapped in this war
Their bodies lie scattered about
While my compassionate heart
Prays for higher rebirth

My logical mind is whirring
Was that enough poison or
Will their scuttering keep me awake tonight?

Will they have the courtesy to haul
Their writhing shells into the open
Before death overtakes them?

Or will I discover
Their little carcasses
With a shriek
And tinkling of breaking glass?

All these thoughts
Flying through the head of a mass murderess

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