A Bottle of Poison

There once was a little girl with a bottle of poison.
She clutched it in her tiny fist,
And every time she spoke to her kin
She turned her wrist,
And a little bit of poison would spill out like this.

That liquid seeped into the ground where she stood,
A little bit every time it spilled,
And dark black roses sprouted as they would.
The flow one day stilled;
The flowers started to grow as fast as they willed.

They twined up to her waist,
Up and around her torso,
Soon she was almost encased.
They moved up to the height of her elbow;
They covered her entirely but continued to grow.

A massive, vined creation stood where that little girl once did,
With thorns so sharp and tipped with cyanide,
Buds appeared, the black flowers inside hid.
They shivered and burst open wide,
Flowers with mouths, spewing poison from inside.

They opened right up, looking for victims to greet,
Snarling viciously, growling too,
Zeroing in on what or whom they could eat.
There goes the family, crunch and chew
But it wasn’t the plant; it was that little girl with the poison all the way through.