the decline of innocence

The room filled with smoke from cigarettes,
intensely fluttering like butterflies.
Uneasiness as light shines through the doors.
Young girls breeze in wearing too much makeup.
The look of things leaves people wrestling
Especially with themselves and their thoughts.

These girls choose to speak lies, not true thoughts.
As young as five they’ve tried the cigarettes.
“I know about sex, they’re not wrestling”.
Little girls no longer love butterflies.
“Mommy, I’m not pretty without makeup”.
The media’s opened so many doors.

With shame mothers peak into daughters doors,
Looking for innocence, to save their thoughts.
Wishing they could hide what they see with makeup.
Not realizing they’re craving cigarettes.
Their babies evolved faster than butterflies.
This anguish helps keep mommies wrestling.

These parents get bored with wrestling,
It seems they give up and shut the doors
Pretending they can fly like butterflies,
But sadly this is only real in thoughts.
They hope their girls don’t know cigarettes,
But they know what comes after the makeup.

No one can change society’s makeup,
Fighting for it is barely wrestling.
Society burns them with cigarettes.
Seems like a future is behind locked doors.
“Will these girls ever have their own real thoughts?”
Questions bring parents more butterflies.


Girls don’t want color like the butterflies
Instead, all they want is mom’s makeup.
Sex and corruption hold little girls thoughts.
The world has started them with wrestling
With their awkward knowledge of too many doors,
Gateways to life from makeup to cigarettes.

Not graced butterflies, rather they’re wrestling
Smeared makeup down their faces, they walk through doors
Pushing aside their thoughts for cigarettes.