In my time,
Collections of disastrous minds,
Try and fit in thinner lines.
Of life and lust and simple *****,
Of life in trend and backward thought.

In my time,
Pushed toward the numbing senses,
Are constellations of fallen men.
Shown before us as the dinner waits,
To show the march of meat of morrow.

In my time,
The children scale the streets of dawn,
To find the simple that all men lost.
With angst in blood and tightened tounges,
For space not made for them nor I.

In my time,
We are the generation returned for store credit,
In line for an endless whirling boredom.
Too bright to see the path been made,
In distance trance a world at bay.

In my time,
We are flawed pawns in disenchanted identity,
A chess game known by little.
We are a valiant effort in loss souls,
A life in turn like all the same.

In my time,
I have seen the stench of want,
In true form of loathing.
Common speak with stacks in smoke,
The toxic billows and blows away.

In my time,
The land rejects us back to void,
A void of fix and ****.
In desperate trance of ***** and bliss,
With suttle missed as time digressed.