Beware all ye with your glowing slates 

that surf oceans far and wide, 

for I can assure you that the Fates 

wait not for your pitiful tears to dry. 

 

They lie in wait before their screens and mirrors 

hands poised with poisoned words;

their shared eye scanning for its horrible dinner 

passed between the first sister, then the second, then third. 

 

Clotho finds the victims within this ocean neon blue

and hands the eye to Lachesis, who furiously scribes away;

disgusting, hateful words, rumors most untrue 

and its Atropos who seals the victim's personal judgement day. 

 

This press of a button, for the sisters, 

is akin to a snip 

for Atropos longs for her old scissors--

yet she settles for Lachesis' proverbial whip. 

 

Thus is the shelf life of a life lived online, 

cut down by the Fates three 

for your social life is their twine 

cut in twain by anonymous thorns of a poisoned tree.