Clouds of grey above their heads,
Mopping heads on their beds
Negativity possessed their mind,
The friends I know, I can no longer find.

Why is it at this age,
We're all consumed by rage?
Wait, scratch that.
It's more of a hazy stormy mat.
Shrouded around our shoulders,
Making us bend like we're carrying boulders.

I kind of find it confusing,
Was it really their choosing?
Or is it the environment that changed them?
Now they shine like dull gems.
I hope they'll turn out all right
And hope that the hidden war they fight,
Will eventually be conquered.
And that, would make me feel honoured.