Yes, the millenials
We, the millenials
Spoilt, messy, dirty
Ungrateful and confused
Tattered, bruised
What a messed up generation
Messed up indeed
Glare at us and shake your head
At our words
That reek of death
Pack happiness inside a pill
Smoke a blunt so your thoughts are still
Sick of the noise
Empty music drifting in
Through these ears
And emptier still—these hearts.
Unknown sadness creeping in
This young blood pumping through these veins
Into a soul that grew up too soon
We, the millenials
Broken. Used.
The television generation
Green screen addicts playing pretend
You pity us now, like they did then
You say it’s our fault
Say you’re our friends
But we are exposed
Deer caught in headlights that never dim
So much happening—all so grim
Fires and numbers
Body count after body count
Numbing us slowly
Another war. Another excuse.
Blinking acceptance, dismissing clues
Exposed to violence, death is a joke
Emotional overload.
We lie awake every night
Boring holes and crafting lies
Stuffing hollowness, building a disguise
Who taught us this slow demise?
Sorting through information
Too much for our eyes
The earth is tired
And so are we
You know what you’ve done
You’ve built machines
Cast those hearts into your work
Perfect your methods to destruct
We are children of war.
Your love you gave to building guns
And cities so vast they block our sun
So, we exist but we are hurt
We are the result
We exist—but we’re machines
Vitals stable—but lacking dreams.
Published in Daily Times, April 14th 2018.