i was born into a generation immune to tragedy,
conditioned, we have been made, to calamity.
hearts hardened by television images,
minds numb at the sight of pained visages.
i was born into a generation wrought with fear,
for the end of the world is coming near.
whether by anthropogenic atmospheric grumblings,
or symbols of american freedom crumbling,
the earth is no longer our home.
a place where mind, body, and spirit
are subject to torment,
and every child's aspirations must lie dormant.
the world, as i know it, is an unwelcoming place,
no matter what your sexuality, age, gender, or race.
our forefathers have pillaged our once overflowing pockets
to fulfill empty goals on lofty campaign dockets.
what is left is ours to fix, though not by choice,
and nobody knows if "they" hear our voice.
i was born into a generation less than "Great",
yet it is only we who can determine our fate.

"everybody i should love, i hate. and everybody i hate..."
my dear, i dont love you.
my body is an empty cavity which contains nothing
but the sounds of isolation and inability.
black are my eyes, because i see the world in a hue of grey,
fitting for someone who has had every ounce of color
drained
by the lack of feeling in my hands.
its not your fault, my dear.
i was just born backwards.

be my friend.
i need it.
hold me close, and listen.
im not strong, im broken.
my heart's gone, i miss it.
help me.
they are coming, i know.
my mask is gone, and im broken.
just be my friend, and hold me.
my world's dark, and lonely.
i can love, i know it.
but nobody is here.
so be my friend, and love me.
hold my hand, and listen.
warm me up, im lonely.
im ok.

we both liked pterodactyls.
that much we knew for sure.
in between the what's your favorite band
and how long can you hold your breath
i fell in love with him.
we fit together like two puzzle pieces, he told me,
carefully crafted by somebody somewhere,
overlapping,
maintaining the symmetry we so beautifully created.
never have i seen another so clearly as when i looked in his eyes.
the paw prints tattooed on his back were from where an angel landed,
he said.
he asked to take a picture of my lips, he wanted to remember them.
every morning he wakes up and prays.
he loves god more than he loves man, and he believes in tibet and monks and the wu tang clan,
and a whole lot of other things i know nothing about.
he understands the world.
i only met him once,
but i havent stopped thinking about him since.

theres a train that rolls through town everyday at 3:34.
it comes through, minding its own business,
like it just dont wanna see or talk to anyone.
thats how mr. hudson is too.
he sits behind the grocery store chewing
sunflower seeds until they get all dried up
and they look like hay in his mouth.
atleast i thought they were sunflower seeds...maybe he is chewing hay?
either way, he's a lonely fella.
he might be older than my paps, and thats **** near a hundred.
he wears glasses, work boots, and the same pair a pants every single day.
nobody looks at him,
and i think its a 'cause he wants to be invisible.
i reckon he hates the world...rightly so if ya ask me.
the world aint nothin but a cold, cruel place for a man like mr. hudson.
he dont have no wife, no kids, no job, no home, or no friends to speak of.
growing up, my friends and i always wondered about mr. hudson.
day in and day out, we'd walk past him on the way to school,
tellin ghost stories bout how we knew he musta killed someone...
why else would he be so lonely and sad?
one day, i was walkin by myself near the train tracks.
i could feel it comin, vibrations were ticklin my bare feet on the soft grass.
must be 3:34.
the grocery store was on my left, and i 'spected to see mr. hudson sittin there per usual,
but he wasnt.
up ahead i seen somethin so odd, so unusual, i didnt know what to make of it.
mr. hudson was standin there on the tracks with his arms spread out like some sorta bird,
and that 3:34 train just about plowed right through him.
that was the last time anybody ever saw mr. hudson,
im the only one who knows what happened to him.
i let him go alone, just like he lived his life.
i aint never spoke to him before,
but i bet thats how he wanted it.

i woke up wanting to kiss you.
its been this way for the past three months.
i dont sleep, and when i do all i see are flashes of you-
flashes of us.
glimpses of steamy cab rides, intimate drunken walks home,
and lingering moments at your back door haunt me.
i am starting to smell like cigarettes,
i had to fill the void with something.
i hate people who smell like cigarettes.
my brother and my sister won't speak to me,
but i dont blame them.
i found out the hard way that there was a limit to your love,
but youre my blood, youre my holy wine.
you tasted bitter and sweet at the same time.
sing me to sleep, i'm tired and i want to go to bed.