Store bought bonds
formed in the gut of the dance floor
through one night stands that have long been expired,
when will you learn?
That the homes of nightfall
are not a place for innocent minds like yours?

You walk the path of your own destruction
like a stick insect on the runway,
let they eyes roam, you think,
let them wander and feast -
but the wings of the beast are
nothing but bare bone
and no body wants angular hips to mesh with their own.
When will you learn, child?

Sigh like the wind would through leaves,
moan like the roots would as they grow deformed,
groan like those very same roots would
when they're ripped from they homes
and burned to musky ashes.
Do you see where you're going?
Can you feel the tension in the air?
Will you learn before it's too late?

No.