An Unwanted Us

I am part of a generation of unknown, entitled, and lost. 

A group who want what they don't have and are in a constant battle with satisfaction. 

Who are desperate to be someone else to the point of losing the chance to become themselves. 

Who touch their bodies and those of others fervently and rushed while hunting down the brief seconds of bliss associated with orgasm. 

Who run wild when they should be sleeping. Drinking poison and breathing smoke until their memory retires and they wake up with no recollection of the escape they so badly needed. 

Who hurt themselves on account of the rest of their existence being so numbing. 

Who harbor hatreds passed down to them by the parents they resent. 

Who lose opportunities to someone who wears nepotism on their sleeve, proudly boasting of stolen dreams. 

Who burn their lungs and their futures in unlit houses with men who will never love them. 

Who would gladly die to feel any semblance of living. 

That spend so much time comparing themselves to their siblings that they end up feeling like an only child. 

That use nicotine soaked fingers to hold the hands of strangers, grasping fiercely to the idea of love. 

That use vigorous effort to break free of the path that their upbringing placed them in. 

Who snort line after line of bleached, crushed, white rock into their brains, pining after a more aware state of being. 

Who gaze at each other and detect similarities to their own tortured and pained stories, then are insulted by their own lack of individuality. 

Who hate so passionately being alone, yet refuse all connection. 

This is you. This is me. This is us.