I consider it an addiction,
One that does not supply fiction.
It is hard to break,
Everyday it bites me like a snake.

It starts with an f,
It ends with a book,
It sucks the life from me
Driving me into a small nook.

Inside a box is where it sits,
Constantly ready to blitz,
Where this thing resides
Is not natural but contrived.

It suffocates my social bone
Turning other kids to stone
It alters my strong opinion
I have become its minion.

It makes me glad
It makes me mad
It hollows my head
It sends me to bed.

It makes me so bored
That i have prayed to the Lord
It supplies constant communication
And it mocks my relations

It makes me over think,
And It really does stink
It by no means is pure,
But still it continues to lure

It brings me in,
Past work and past play.
My one reoccurring sin;
Is that I'm on facebook more than once a day.