Sinful Writing

Little Miss Muffet

I am just four. My name's Muffet.

I live in the village of Rosette.

All the townsfolk here were like smiles and cheers,

Except my parents--full of hatred and fear.

 

I was cursed so badly from the day I was born,

My parents' life was a rose; I was the thorns,

For the child they expected was not like me--

A hunchback, so peculiar and so ugly.

 

I am beautiful, though, if not for these--

the mountain in my back; the lump in my cheeks,

my uneven teeth; my squeaky little voice,

I would have been the cause of mom and dad's rejoice.

 

Mom doesn't love me, said I was a shame,

I look so horrible; I look so lame.

Dad doesn't treat me like a child of his,

He said he'd rather die than to me, he'll kiss.

 

For a mistake, a wrong, so little, so small,

Surely, they'll batter me, curse me, and bawl,

Worsening the state of my unfortunate face,

Subtracting from my lifespan a few more days.

 

Once, I chipped an insignificant cup,

Mom struck me with a rod, down to up.

For days, I can't walk, bedridden and sore,

She might've killed me if I cracked some more.

 

Once, I asked Daddy to play ball with me,

He got annoyed, got pretty unhappy.

He punched me in the face, blackened my eye,

And it made me uglier, I wouldn't lie.

 

But, though, they treat me more like a pet,

I still love them. Angry, I won't get.

And, though, they bathe me in Ares's Wrath,

I bathe them back in Aphrodite's Bath.

 

And this one night, Daddy came home,

Drunk and tomato-red, all alone,

He said, "Muffet, you are nothing but dust specks,

Come in bed with me and we, two, will have sex."

 

I knew not what the S-word meant,

I thought it was nice, that my dad changed from being bent.

That they will be good and we'll be okay,

That we'll all be happy and much more gay.

 

But, alas! As we got inside the room,

He hit me in the head with the handle of a broom.

He stripped me of my clothes; he threw me to bed,

He destroyed my innocence with lust and hatred.

 

Then, I felt this excruciating pain,

Like my innards would burst, making me insane.

Part of my father was inside of me,

Pounding me from behind with his sweaty body.

 

I was wailing; I was crying,

I felt in my crotch that I was bleeding.

He was moaning; he was groaning,

"Muffet, you have a purpose now," he was saying.

 

I felt dizzy, my system could not bear it,

Nothing about this felt nice, not even a bit.

With a pleading tone, I cried to my father,

"I'm sorry, Daddy, if I was a failure!"

 

Slowly, slowly, my consciousness slipped away,

My sight blackened; everything was grey.

And just like that, my breath snuffed out,

I was sucked to the Underworld's mouth.

 

I never lived to see Daddy's reaction,

When he thrust his last in ecstatic emotion.

For once in my life, I would have been glad,

That I pleased my father and he was not mad.

 

Because he was drunk, he knew not of my death,

Mom and Dad would be thrilled, I'm sure, I bet.

I am just four. My name's Muffet.

And tonight, Daddy fucked me straight to my Death.