Toddlers' walking is hell unleashed
lurching and swaying with arms outreached
like zombies in a deathless quest
to feed upon a living breast.

Tumbling, stumbling, rising again,
they cannot be restrained.
Crawling or scooting if they must,
driven by insatiable lust.

The smell of one as it draws near
sweeps your soul with dreadful fear.
Breath of death from puke and drool,
noxious fumes from frightful stools.

When darkness falls and all is still
you close your eyes and rest, until
banshee cries renew the dread --
another Night of the Living Dead.

Amid the retching and the heaving
your mind considers swiftly leaving.
But their magic spell bids you stay
And be their prey another day.