I’ve entertained razor-blade youth full of cuts and stubble,
The young blood, tired of ringing their own stubborn set necks,
Who hopped up on apathy, and spent their savings on sex,
With a personification of lust and greed.
Even Leviathan took slumber at their dead wet dreams
Of Liberty Enlightening the World — degrees aloft,
Like a beacon of false hopes and twisted empty knowledge,
Their Colgate smiles, a grimace of shallow parties and wine.
Not even their button-neck shirts could strangle tight enough,
The haggard shoulders of lost hope pulverised in dark guilt;
They found no place for black-rimmed eyes full of nightmares and ghouls;
Instead, lip quivering sufferers found insatiate souls
Reaching for knives, pills, guns, to end heaven-tendered life:
An annihilation reprieve from blank photo albums,
Of what could have, should have, and might have been,
If somehow they were like posters of exam-born success;
Yet, a death with no meaning is a life with no meaning;
And a life with no meaning is death worth embracing;
And a death worth embracing is a life worth forgetting;
And a life worth forgetting is a life worth the ending.
They were intangible untouchable insatiable—
The youth who had forgotten—and yet, today I remember them.