Oh hell,

We are the cushioned generation
Unaware of our surroundings past the pillows
One feather poking out of place
And we're history.

If we learn through suffering,
Middle Class America
Has learned nothing. 

My father was one of seven,
With that much family you get by
Ate canned tuna for a year
As he worked through college.
My mother was the oldest, like myself,
But she also had to play 
Head of house
As her mother played breadwinner
And her father played drinking games.

And I sit at a desk,
Lazily attempting work,
Having faced no challenges
No trials nor tribulations
To speak of.

And I have learned many things, 
But still I have learned nothing. 
To live you must suffer
As much as you succeed 
And I have done neither. 

I seek out adventure,
Some kind of mystery,
A revolution, 
Anything at all
To break the dull monotony
It is all the same, 
And after a while
It wreaks of suburbia
And I cannot abide this.

I want to change,
Be part of a movement,
Leave some sort of scar
Of why I was even here. 

We are the generation
That does not try
To come up with ideas
Because we think everything 
Has already been done. 
How can you be different
When everyone is different
We whine to our captors

Ourselves
We build our own fences
The white picket ones 
We abhor

And as every day 
Looks the same
As every face
Blurs into the next
I crave hardship
In some way or other
That will test me
And teach me
I want to help
To improve
Something
Anything
Help
Me. 

Another listless cry amoungst a sea of cowards,
Rambles on as I hum drum drum 
And type away on milky background
Drowning in imagined ink and
Self pity.

This is not what we were meant to be
And you have to fight it
You must avoid this fate
At all costs,
Otherwise 
It will
Become
You.

Every generation is lost
in their own way. 

We are the 
Frankengeneration.
We must be.
We created the very Monster we abhor
And do not teach it,
Only run. 

Fight the signs and do not flee
No matter what the horror
Feel the pain you fear
Experience wholeheartedly,
Even if it is broken-heartedly,
Because indifference is a fate
Worse than death. 

Comfortable
Is Death.

Break the mould 
And spring from this concrete jungle 
pathetic mess
Where everyone is too scared
to say what they mean
to step on toes
to fight the good fight
Or any at all

To live
Before you die

War is not even the same,
And revolutions are happening
All the time
But not here. 

Freedom is an illusion 
Security as well
But we pretend
These are the most 
Important Things
Of All. 

So I will cut through it all
Like a rag tag mess 
Of a surgeon
And pray that I do crash
Because after all,
What's it all about
If not for the thrill?

As long as I take some 
Obligatory house wives
And model citizens
Out with me.

We die every day that
We do not live,
And I've been dying
All my life now. 

So let's get living. 

But when you do go out,
I'm tellin you right now,
If nothing else, you gotta
Give 'em hell, kid.