Mean girls wear the latest styles
Have fake smiles
Gossip, compare
Sow division, despair

Their gardens grow in shadowy places
Behind walls, in hidden spaces
Their nectar has a bitter taste
But flies are not discerning

They swallow like drunks, cheap wine
Sour acid, their own sublime
Gluttons crying “More and more!”
Rise up in a pungent cloud
And acid rain comes pouring down.

The vile liquid which they spread--
Their sustenance, their daily bread—
On filthy lips, feeds new seed heads.

So their gardens will always grow,
Filled with thorns and jagged rows
And roots running and deep and long and strong,
In the dark, where they belong.