Ten Little Martyrs

They play with fire
then complain about the heat
throw glass to the pavement
and tell the world how it cuts their feet

ten little martyrs stand in a row
overactive tear ducts from which tears flow
provides the nutrition to help self pity grow

scratching at old scabs so new blood will spill
breathing in sorrow and never get their fill
loquacious with spite, fire at will
forsaking joy for a license to kill

ten little martyrs stand in a row
making their beds with misery's thread they sow
and onward to that bed they must go.

(note: written 7/25/05)