This is MY generation.
The generation full of suicidal adolescents
and homicidal young adults.
Where "I had sex with him" turns more heads than
"I tried to kill myself."
Where tears mean less than a smile
and four a.m. cries for help are lost in the darkness of the sky
with the stars,
blinking in and out of existence.
Revolutionary minds stricken with fear in their hearts and whispers of doubts in their ears saying,
"you are not enough."
Bruises and bandages litter arms and legs, a true reflection of the war inside,
tearing hope and happiness into shreds and setting it ablaze in effort to warm cold and barren cores,
pumping malice through narrow veins in damaged bodies.
This is when the word “love” had lost it’s meaning and when the word “hate” had found a new one
because we never actually understood what it meant until we saw that the figure in the mirror staring back at us
was far from human .
Where the sharp silver kisses of razor blades across soft pale skin spills more secrets than mouths,
gasping for air, suffocating in clouds of their own self deceit
or drowning in seas of their own self loathing.
This is a generation ruined by the generations before them.
THIS is my generation.