You writhe and wriggle,
In rooms of smoke and acidic air.
Poised to strike at the very first chance you see.
Emotion no longer has consequence,
When desire overpowers with such ease.
Brains long bereft of tender touches,
Now drool and snarl and ****** and devour.
How can it be that bodies so young are so vile,
As to deliver themselves to the nearest stranger.
It seems the wonderful art of loving is being lost,
To the wicked craft of *******.
Youth are corrupted, influenced, brought low,
By thoughts, ideas and actions centuries behind us.
The time has come for the young and old to touch tenderly, lovingly,
To touch with meaning, dedication, and good intentions.
To touch as though all humans are flowers.
Flowers need tending, attention, they need a steady and consistent hand,
Otherwise they shall falter,
And this is not my desire for the human race.