This generation is not for the sentimental
Living fast lives
To make fast money
Driving cars a little too fast
And coming for the wrong person even faster
Till one day they stop to find the meaning of life
Among the broken reflection of the person they used to be and
The aborted fragments of the person they wish they were,
In the middle of nowhere, next to empty valium prescriptions,
Rimmed with the salty tears of insomniacs,
Desperately trying to cup empty happiness
Between sinking palms,
Listening to music from a time
When people wanted to no longer lie to themselves,
Wringing art from the
Pure, unadulterated, consummate fear of the oppressed
Mesmerized by barren flowers on polished guns
Because nobody wants to die when they’re staring death in face.
Drifting aimlessly in stagnant times,
This generation refuses to cave into the
Prejudices of their forefathers,
Men who burned their brothers at the stake
And stoned their sons under banyan trees
In the name of greed, power and the nation.
They are called Spoiled, Entitled
Addicted to Digital Actuality,
The Downfall of Quality Humanity,
But their ancestors spent their humanity
Putting bullets into the heads of the unarmed
Because they looked and acted a little different from them
Bombing, gassing, mutilating their neighbors over a slice of land
Till neither side could stand straight anymore
Or look each other in the eye.
This generation piles one existential crisis after another on
Groaning banquet tables of intangible anxiety,
Leaving behind Instagram shitposts on crumpled napkins
As part of their already fading legacy.
Alone in the biggest crowd this dying planet has ever seen
Desperate to be heard above the static of
Their intricately put-together sham-self
A product of inconsistent parenting and questionable confidence
Waiting to feel anything that’s mildly real
Even if it is pain.
Losing sobriety with every foreign breath
On an extended hiatus from reality
In a land that is not their own but they call home.
This generation pushes back when pushed because they’re tired
Of being spit and looked down on
Of being told what they should do
Who they should be and who they should and shouldn’t love.
They’re so caught up in their own minds
Until it becomes too dark to see anymore
And then it’s the blind leading the blind.
Please leave them alone.
They’re just trying to get by.
This generation craves that four-five second of B-rated fame
Where nothing matters as long as all eyes are on them
And stupidity is awarded with international limelight
Dying, sometimes literally, from the everyday routine
Looking for the next hit of stimulant
Till life becomes nothing but
Panem et circenses.
This generation can’t create anything that truly belongs to them,
Their beloved heart-over-head masterpiece but
Only a copy of a copy of a copy
Because conformity has been driven so deep into their skulls that
It’s the common tongue of the house
And the house always wins.