Voices from the Cemetery

My mommy and daddy live in the cemetery.  They tell me that I need to behave.  They say I’m a very naughty child and they want to lock me away in a dungeon.  I tried to hide, I tried to run.  I like to draw lots of pictures with crayons and markers.  Mommy threw them all away.  No one must see them.  I love my mommy and daddy, and I hear them whisper to me though an iron gate.  Their voices tickle my ear, make me giggle.  Sometimes they cry and groan.  Daddy beat me when he was sad and touched me in a bad place when he was mad.  Mommy was quiet.  On nights such as this one I like to climb the large sycamore tree that hangs over the cemetery and talk to my mommy and daddy.  They must have thought me real naughty when I wielded that axe.  They live in the cemetery because they’re naughty too.