this is the new generation;
where we romanticize tragedy
and write poetry about the end of days.
our epics are no longer about men on gods’ quests
but the raw suffering of atlas’ shoulders
as the world becomes too gluttonous to bear.

we sing about teenage love in dark motels,
where smoke clings to pores
and the forgetfulness of drugs are all they know.
we scribble odes to living
on subway walls, hoping that someone will see it
and know there is light in this dying.

we talk about romancing the devil
until he decides to give up hell for us,
and promise children that most angels fall
it’s okay they don’t have wings.

this is the new generation;
where we watch the world turn to ashes
while those who birthed us sit blindly,
commenting on the blueness of the sky.