We Are The Youth

We are the youth of the lost generation,
Driven by fame and affection,
Always running,
Leaving behind snapshots and
Glitter on the abandoned streets.
Always looking for something
But we don’t know what.

We are our own personal heroes,
Dreaming in soft focus
And living in a harsh reality.
Memories of empty houses, empty bottles.
Endless nights.

We are the rock stars of local fame,
Driven by the next fix,
The next house party.
We are all the masters of a personal war,
Playing with paper dolls.
Always in over our heads
By the glow of a cell phone.

We are the chosen ones,
Born to save ourselves,
Born to dream,
Fueled by meaning and hook ups.
Existing in the age of lost innocence.

We are the modern children,
Wild ideas in our complex minds,
Looking for a way to feel alive,
Tearing everything apart,
Grasping desperately at each other,
Naked and vulnerable.

We are the stars reflected on Earth,
The prince charmings and princesses,
In a world of land and seas,
Of pavement, swimming pools, and sin.
Modern fairytales playing out.

We are the lost causes,
Living for the moment,
Believing in second chances,
Living in a blur,
The details lost.

We are the best, the worst,
The ones left standing alone,
Rebels with hidden tragedies,
Losing, gaining, destroying, creating everything,
At a fast pace.
Singing along to every song.

We are the future leaders of the world,
The homecoming king and queen
And everyone in between.
We are perfect in our parent’s eyes,
Nightmares in our parent’s eyes,
Nothing in our parent’s eyes,
Fending for ourselves.

We are the beginning of a revolution,
War paint and weapons in disguise,
Six packs and skinny dipping,
Bubble gum and blowjobs,
Barely legal, barely passing.

We are the only ones left,
Turning ourselves inside out.
Someday we’ll die,
But for now we are immortal,
The youth’s reign eternal,
We are the lost generation.

The Noise Of The Beautiful Youth

They’re all so loud, drowning in their youth. Flesh on display, long lanky bodies falling around. I stand quietly against a wall. I smile to myself. Someone is talking to me but I’m not listening. I stare at them, nod blindly, take a sip, gulp, nod again. This person seems barely coherent enough to form a sentence. Why is it so goddamn loud? I turn my head away from the football player in close proximity who has now rested his hand on my hips. The faces of my peers are displayed before me. They’re all intoxicated with sex and drugs and the pounding music. They’re the happiest I’ve ever seen. I can’t decide if this fact makes me sad or not. Mostly I feel indifferent towards them. I feel his hand massaging my leg now. God, it’s all so obvious. I almost want to laugh at it all. But his eyes are surprisingly sincere. I look away again, my neck exposed. I’m too dizzy to tell him to stop, to do anything. I see all the grinding bodies in a frenzy, what a warm atmosphere. He kisses me and I don’t protest. He has blue eyes, a good body, and no intellectual thoughts. That’s enough for me. His body rests against mine and it feels nice. I close my eyes, darkness. Darkness, lust, and the noise of the beautiful youth.

Move Closer

We are irresistibly drawn. I move closer just to feel you breathe. Inhale, exhale, my heart swells, no physical indication. You sigh like you belong here. I breathe in with my lungs. We stare at my bedroom walls that depict the world’s history. I imagine I am in your dreams. You move closer and I lick my lips. My mind speeds up and slows down. There are the unwritten laws, etched into our common knowledge. Finally, frenzy, an assumption of power. Kings and queens and the royal court approve. Your kiss on my body, stitched into my skin. Your name invisible on my wrist, fondly. After, I feel your effect echoing in my bones and in my nerves. And again, you sigh like you belong here, and perhaps you do. Your heartbeat is strong and steady. Your heartbeat speaks to me over and over again. Then there are unexpected words, words of compromise. And you are gone, yet my skin smells of you. My empty room holds your scent. It feels so personal, like I’ve discovered a secret, your humanity captured. And I lay on my back losing any such illusions I might have created. And you leave with your conquest and radical vision of me. Reality has slept with fiction once again. The joker’s heart exists, still beating. And I am the fool. My lips are now raw but my skin is oh so soft.

A Quite Grand Supply Of Blood

Someday my time will come, my reign. High ambitions. No one stepping all over me. After all I am a human too, equality and all that. I am in possession of organs, bones, and a quite grand supply of blood. Oh, don’t I have a lot to offer? Look at me, look me in the eyes. Discover the truth, the real me, the whole me. The complexity of a human being, alive and well in such a hopeless time.

Recalled to Life

I am recalled to life, recalled from the dark grave. Reminded of why life and everything…and everything matters. Reminded of you. Us. What times. My past, my present, my future, all connected. A linear fairy tale. With an end…and an epilogue. So be happy, let your heart swell. So happy that you feel as though you could burst, explode into stardust. You and the whole world. Floating through the universe, you and I, holding hands. Because really, how strange it is to be anything at all.

Burning Bright

When he walks through the doorframe, I am sitting on the desk right before his eyes. The desk is an antique, beautiful and intricate. My legs are crossed. This desk was once in Versailles. A short black dress covers my body. The dress falls short and my bare legs are mostly exposed. I am perfectly poised, waiting for him.

He walks in, stands before me, his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing a frayed flannel shirt and black wayfarers. He takes them off, his eyes bright.

The room is dimly lit; I can hear the cars passing outside.

“You look pretty.” He says quietly, sitting on the big bed with the white sheets.

I smile at him with my pearly whites.

The room is mostly bare with high ceilings. I can hear the sound of water rushing, someone down the hall is taking a bath. I always take baths. I seep into baths so hot I can barely breathe.

He takes off his shoes and sighs, his dark hair disheveled. He is handsome, though I never tell him so. In a way, he knows. There are always the unspoken words between us. The way we eat breakfast together in bed, how I lay against his chest.

I take a sip of red wine and lick my lips. I lay down next to him.

My dress slips off and my warm skin against his is the only thing that matters. We are together in our sad little room in the heart of the city. Burning bright just for each other.

Dinner Parties

Dinner Parties

My mother liked to do, what she called, entertaining. When I was little, there’d always be some new people coming over in fancy clothes and funny-sounding drawls. The woman would click-clack with their high-heels on the hardwood floor and their lipstick. The men with cigars and various colored ties who would always bring some sort of odd present. They’d all talk about society and politics and I’d sit there quietly sipping milk and eating my food. My mom would wear one of her fancy dresses from Milan or Paris and I’d get my pink striped pajamas on at nine o clock. I was always expected to go out and say goodnight to everyone. I hated it. The adults were all so loud. I’d tuck myself into bed and pet my cat until he purred loud like one of those old cars from the fifties. Muffled conversations drifting into my bedroom. My room dim from the sea-shell shaped nightlight in the corner.