Wrecked by Satan

Those innocent sketches
and naive eyes
I'm looking for those days
but it seems like
they're lost somewhere,
where?
In bleeding cuts or
bottles sealed with alky?

Those crayons remain scattered
on the floor
Legs painted with sharpie
and heart painted with love,
Hair covering the forehead
hair covering the tender vertebrae
hair painted in blue, red, pink
hair covering those fearless eyes.
Today, cigarettes lie dry
on the floor
legs painted with blood
and heart painted with spite,
hair covering the forehead
hair covering the broken vertebrae
hair painted in red and green
hair covering those implacable eyes
and those unheard fables.

What makes the anklebiters
metamorphose into
such vindictive brutes?
The air is not adulterated
and water is not corrupted.

Then why do they massacre
their innocence
and sell inner geniuses
to the Devil?
Why do they push
their roots away
and let heir 'so-called' cronies
preoccupy their spirits?

And why do they fall in love with Satan?

I know, somewhere it's Satan
pulling the wires
and controlling them,
everyone
but do they have
no control over
their own selves?

Those innocent sketches
seem dark, painted with the blood
sprouting out the scars
of a lost love,
and the naive eyes
no longer remain decipherable,
is that what growing up is like?
Or is this how Satan leaps
into your costume
to wreck you?