If you squash them,
if you bend them,
if you project your face onto theirs,
their minds will break:
reflections shattered, a mass of cracks and holes
where a person should be.
Their bodies will rot, bulge, blacken, weep.
Kindling that longs to ignite
if only to prove that it has some self-worth left.
And at the end of it,
still it will not be your name you see,
but theirs, as it only ever could.
You failed them,
yet stand where they still should.