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.