I hear them when I hide in the bathroom.
They come in between classes,
loose sneakers thumping,
flip-flops shuffling,
high-heels clicking.
They chatter about senseless things,
gossiping in staged whispers,
squealing like pigs,
giggling - "Huh-huh huh-huh huh-huh"
Beasts of conformity, slaves of fashion,
the "It" girls, golden skeletons
in skin-tight jeans, micro-minis,
teensy t-shirts cut to show
their premature breasts.
They don't see me there, or if they do,
they certainly don't acknowledge my presence;
for I am the lowest of the low:
a bathroom-hider.

Lament of Innocence: A Nursery Rhyme

Run for thy life, little one, I say
The Reaper cometh for thee this day
Thy existence, a journey, now cut short
Thy ship never to make it to port

Innocence lamented, th' angels cry,
Their tears falling from th' sky

But hide thyself, cover thy head
Through the night, keep thee to thy bed
An' mayhap Death will just pass by
A whisper in the night, a baby's sigh

Innocence lamented, th' angels cry,
Their tears falling from th' sky