Stress

Youth?

You call this youth?
We dress up for the club, we live fast and die young. We drink in hope for a future where life is lived through. We cash in our kinks for cheap friendships, our hands are weak, our faces stale, our words are hollow vessels. We live in fear, our heart is filled with dissatisfaction, we don't feel, we run, we're dead, gone.

Our dreams are chased at night by the insecurities we harbor in our hearts, our fingers are lost on the faces of those close. The days get shorter and our lungs grow weaker.

This world owes you nothing. You are burnt plastic.

People die, buildings burn but this is life, this is love, we will never truly die.