Peanut Butter and Jelly

She is laying on her bed, but beds weren't meant for sleeping.

The moon is her light, because light bulbs are for smoking.

Fathers do the lying and Mothers the weeping.

Books help her breath when the dead are done choking.

Living rooms are unfriendly and funeral homes are homely.

The stove isn't on, because kitchens are certainly not for cooking,

Peanut butter and jelly aren't meant to be eaten moldy.

Mothers aren't for love and young children are for overlooking.

She isn't crying because tears were made for guilt and shame.

Everything is still, because broken toys were not made for playing.

Adults can’t be trusted, strangers judge and family defame.

Everything is wax and tubes when the crows come preying.

Author's Note

Any and all critique welcome. I haven't written in years and have a genuine interest in opinions and critiques.