what the cops don't know

the police have just arrived at the scene of the crime and they discover the body of a woman but they find her son alive

This is told in the perspective of a young boy.

When I look at my mother,

I picture her grave,

Untidy and old,

Covered in mold.

I picture the knife ,

Used to end her,

The pool of blood,

She slept in.

I picture the cops,

Circling her body,

Searching for evidence,

They'd find my prints on her body,

But what scared child wouldn't ,

Hold their mother.

But what they don't know,

Is they found the killer,

But who is to believe,

That little o'l me,

Could do such a thing.

Now that would be just plain evil.