These lines are blurred
as the hot scalding tears of hate
well from my burning eyes;
and I know tonight
as I try to sleep
I shall hear Baby P's cries.

My thoughts falter and strain
and death by a thousand cuts
is too merciful for some;
the hand wringers;
the fucking paper shufflers,
for they are no less guilty.

And today; as I gaze upwards
and wonder if my God
cares or can really see;
I curse the sub human hands
that wrought such evil and
wish a million gentle cuddles
to tiny Baby P.