We were so destructive as youths.
We’d spray paint the walls of our own home on a whim.
We never created, only dismantled.
We degraded the things around us.
We cherished nothing but ourselves.

We felt the confidence of knowledge while knowing nothing.
We shared only ideas and insults. Crass and crude in our understanding of love and ***.
We had no sense of the viscous cycle; only adding to our environments toxicity.
We walked guiltless.

We were kings with no kingdom.
We were men, not man enough to admit our faults.
We lied. We cheated and stole.
We made gallant attempts at charity but to selfish ends.

We were children pretending to be old souls.
We could do no wrong.
We were not strong.
We were not whole.
We were flawed.

We embodied our flaws, but when we started looking in the mirrors before we broke them, we saw the flaws, and decided to destroy them.

In this final act of destruction, we ceased to be destructive youths.

Letting go of ideas.
The one's I couldn't tame.
The ones that overtook me, that ran wildly insane.
Raise my hands in defeat and curse the gods for this pain.
I can only imagine what I'm predisposed to see.
Watch the world through curtains like watching people on the street.
Peeking through a crack, trying to remain unseen.

We were meant to be but we lost the means to direct our thoughts.
We shamed ourselves with glimpses at who we were inside.
The personal attacks all ran together in viscous streams of vulgarities.
One fed the other, evil perpetrators of such senseless crimes.
Calm me down with whimpering cries. Dried tears, dropped haphazardly across the page, dry and form complex designs.
Repeat and reiterate.
Tell me again about your troubles,I wasn't listening anyway.

I'll make you a messiah
in my eye's: bright as light can shine.
Become a figurehead of sorts.
Idolotry's a hobby of mine.

Your lips part and let slip,
wine drank straight from the chalice
Make haste and change your ways,
the hour is upon is.

Giving never made us any different,
the greed was for redemption.
Shall we drop these foolish notions? Or keep searching for the next one.

Jesus, give me strength.
Give me peace, power and pleasure.
I want a big house.
I want a hot car.
Oh Jesus, give me pleasure.

Honestly, your honesty seems so forced it's comical.
The stories you tell make fairy tales seem less whimsical.
Your arguments, so forced, follow the rest in mindless circles.
If this is the end all in all,
Then what's the point in expressing oneself?

I make myself a ****** in a river rushing with hopeful ambition.
I listen to the whispers and jot mental notes on the subleties of conversation:
The gilded mistakes of over confidence and deviancy.
The honesty of misreading a situation.
The defeat in his voice, darkening eyes and flattened smile when she affirms the 'no' with which the conversation began.
All in all, a quite enjoyable evening for the ******.