Tw, sui, sh, the name of the thing that runs in your veins, and other stuff. It's a poem about the worst of all, because it's supposed to describe people, im not okay btw
I saw the greatest minds of my generation…
left on the border of life and death, innocence and love, study and apathy, passion and misery and fear and happiness, gazing up to the sky for truth with no God nor gods, by night, by day, searching for their phantoms invisible to the eye of reality, without self and stability, their death,
rising arguments against nature, values, for the salvation of fictional polarities and bears of boxes and screens missing organs, yet containing rainbow viscera of LSD and dead bugs, and hands, reaching, for their fate is a breath too far, the air,
giving up their name for their hope and their life, everything they own, to their mind, on a skyscraper full of toxins, with a backpack full of rocks and gems losing themselves to the doubtless world,
running through the crowds of, in words of the known, monsters barefoot, stepping in the manner of feathers on the names of streets made of shards, angels and fears of the past,
falling asleep stripped-naked on the floor of school underground covering with a blood blanket of everyone but themselves, saving their thoughts in the form of empty confessions of the others, the viewr, who's lost their mind for the second, third and fourth,
as they eat themselves; elegantly cut, blood, stab, blood, and absorb, blood, blood, blood,
sobbing the words to -phobic and sexist songs by heart, pretending that, again, grunge's in and in the USA, LA only celebrities are murdered, not people, and everything is vintage, because it's hard to wear clothes after a corpse without a bit of romance.
And I decided to leave my gaze on these flies of society, unwanted children of sexually naive patients of the psychiatric ward, who instead of a hearing decided to talk their thoughts into the no longer existing souls of boulders on the path from soldiers to doctors, but the poets left behind with overwhelming texts about prostitution and drugs, they had forgotten,
beer, cigarettes, ecstasy, nicotine, vape, vodka, they've everything, but the present,
mobiles, reels, facebook in cobwebs, laptops instead of books, ask AI for the reason for existence, a drone on the roof and a smoker in the fist, a generation of hard drugs, because no matter how hard you, your brain has already been affected by the cancer Uncreative idiot and cannot be saved.
germansingergirl
2087
vaporwave
discoholicmusic
origamiaround
gummygunk
turnnoffyourmind
