Weekends blur together,
into unfathomable disgusting pleasure
alcohol captures my throat in its hands,
burning in the most pleasant way
smoke is my new oxygen
I inhale greedily
waiting for my eyes to redden
and my mind to split open
spilling all its contents into my body,
into my blood thirsty heart.

A park, a house, a beach,
I can't tell the difference.
Raging hormones clawing at the bodies surrounding
flesh against flesh
wanting, searching
for a new obsession
to burn out the infestation of another lover
the one time encounter of two empty shells
hoping to be filled with something other than dread.

Its unavoidable,
the cold reality of what it really is.
Meaningless.
But still our hearts hunt for purpose,
and I feel every vibration of desire surround me
dozens of developing disasters
hungry for more than what's given
more than the guidelines
it engulfs me.

I'm just another alcoholic statistic
part of a generation willingly destroying ourselves
just to feel something,
other than the seat we're permanently stuck to
and the desk we're forever trapped under
uselessly typing on a computer we can never look away from
for the rest of our pointless existence
stuck in a miserable cycle
of losing
but never obtaining.