Glassy eyes
Slurred speech
Delirium
Or something of the sort.

Brush my hair out of my face
I want you to kiss me
But I don't.
I'm not sure how I feel
And yet, I do not stop.
Why do I set myself up for regret?

We're ready to explode.
It's written all over our
Morphine mouths
******* cheeks
****** voices
That resonate silently.

We're so wasted
This youth
This generation
Kids these days
Or, that's what they call it.

It's all our fault, too?
Last time I checked,
You will reap what you sow.