Childhood is Calling

The massive textile spinners 
screech, moan, and groan
as they revolve
in the humid factory.

Quietly sulking around every corner,
the gloomy faces of the children
cringe.
 
As they crawl under the death wheels,
wisps of hair twine with metal
ripping their scalps from their heads,
leaving a painful bloody heap.

When the merciless day finally ends
and the brief night approaches,
the despondent bloody souls
settle in their taut sultry beds.





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