I.

To be seven years old and unafraid
   I was crying to stop it all.

  The sensation
     The falling
        The cold, round, blue-black space 
           And the turning world.
 
           I was born to eat flowers.

         I said to myself,
                          Some flowers bloom and die in your mouth.

  I did not like it.
 I don't want to talk.
 To become a bad thing,
  A paroxysm of rage.

Murder wet against my bosom
                            Coming, Coming, Coming. 

II.

You were too young when they put dirt in your virgin body and unfortunately no one ever told you to stop eating worms.