delinquent

broken bones cupped in hands held outstretched
phalangeal wings
twisted, curling mischievous smile forming,
"but mommy, i didn't mean it!"
signs all point to the inevitable;
the unmistakable truth
glass walls for prison cells and
he sells his modesty, honestly
while crushing those helpless in his hands.
they were made for strangling,
wrangling hyperactivity passed off
as normalcy but
behind double-sided glass,
toys strewn, pen scratching, tapping away,
his normalcy fades into concerned glances,
shrugged shoulders, and,
"well, we can't seem to find the problem."
this is how serial killers and abusers are made
they appear from mangled dolls and
broken wings, they come from magnifying glasses
and missing pets, a collar collection
hidden in a secret place.
they are made of honesty and promises,
manipulation and enabling mothers,
too sick and tired to do much of anything else.
this can only end when, exhausted,
they throw up their hands and scream,
"enough is enough!"
hands cupped in handcuffs,
the wind carries her baby away.