In my tender age, I was filled with innocence
I was yet to be tainted by the horrid mosaic the world puts together in front of me.
But then they came along,
With their sweet words of manipulation
They said they cared for me,
That I was mature,
But in reality they prayed upon my trust.
Feasting on my adolescence.
They knew the power they held,
Taking advantage of my naivety.
With my scuttling legs and my knobby knees,
My rough skin covering my gooey, heaving organs.
They trace over my mutilated, gate like exoskeleton,
Their gaze never wavers.
Untouched is the youth - this sick sense of ripeness is blight,
elude is my depraved self.
