I want to ask the faeries, 

What they do when they crave their mothers' love. 

Do they also chop their mystical hair? 

Until they think the desire has been killed enough. 

I want to ask their mothers, 

If they love their young ones. 

If they love them like the others, 

Or only when they go and hunt. 

Do the faeries bring them male elves? 

Pixie dust, leopard spit. 

What do they take for themselves? 

Allergic pollen and squirrel bits. 

Love in pieces, 

Nothing in peace. 

Handful of desperation, 

Affection is all they need. 

They drown themselves in ivy deep, 

Swing from the branches of dry trees. 

Until one of them cries and leaves, 

Yet, the faerie is weak? 

Evil birth giver, you wicked witch. 

Lonesome struggle you provided them with, 

And the forest is burning, 

The lakes are dirty. 

Rocks are bloody. 

Horrible chav creature, do you regret uttering curt? 

All the eggs you had ever laid, 

Have now decomposed in the foul dirt.