Someday they’ll look back here
and tell each other,
that the end started with us.
We are the plateau kids, the ones who lost it;
We who watched the new millennium
sink into place as our monument to apathy.
The derivative of a derivative is our only construct left standing now.
The de-evolution of a soul, spiraling out,
becoming thinner and thinner the farther it reaches,
leaving us hollow scarecrows
still guarding the dead field.

We are a generation of potentiality,
lost in twisting teeth.  Clockwork gears
churns us out, hollow men pushing hollow men
through and out doors, into a world of excessive emptiness.
Fertile though the mind may be, it’s lost on us.
We are the spectators of progress, the ones who watch and
laugh and drink and **** and snort and smoke
and post and pop and dance and steal and die.

Beauty stopped with us,
and all was lost.