Why are you obsessed with being a mess,
the next young wildling who can be the most surprising?
Who can smoke the most, who can kill their lungs, who will be most high, who most wants to die?
Why does everyone want to be fucked up, but can't have anyone thinking they give a fuck? Have a dodgy hair cut and wear the strangest get up.
What happened to just being a teenager, why've we all got to rebel? What happened to roller discos and milkshakes, late nights and cheeky dates;
Why's it all drugs and getting off your face, seeing who can be the biggest disgrace?
If it ain't drugs, you think you're some political pro, all far left wing feminism, thinking you're all in the know,
Thinking you could run a country with you cereal box brain, only acting like you care until the next phase;
Half of you are off the rails, the other think they're uni degrees; but there are the few that haven't a clue, the ones that just want to be.
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
