Friday Night

Some men go to bars,
In their sleek sports cars.
Away from responsibility they run,
Away from their only son.

Some teens go to parties,
And fill up with Bacardi.
Some just get wasted and spent,
And others just get pregnant.

Some bums meet, but where, I don't know,
Toking weed, and shooting blow.
Corrupt, broken, and nothing to lose,
Not a heart, a mind, or even a pair of shoes.

More teens go to frat houses,
And are gathering like louses.
It was supposed to be a simple ride,
Who will call his mother, and tell her he died?

High school senior, filled with lust,
Takes away what made her right and just.
It was just a fun time, having fun getting laid,
In five years from now, she will die from AIDs.

Who is to say these events won't occur?
They've happened to someone you know, I'm sure.
What am I doing, on this Friday Night?
I am dying like the rest, dying while I write.