I’m seeking a truth within these fragmented words
My thoughts won’t cooperate with how my fingers move
Typing on this old handmedown machine to transform
My mundane existence into a magical, deliberate groove
I am not afraid to expose the flesh of a wilted soul
There are no heroes in these parts, just broken misanthropes
Internalizing the segmented society & all the villains
Returning to coffee so black the void regains precious hope
Watching the condensation seep into the desk
I think of the glories that have gone away
The ice melting/mixing into my single malt
I’ve been nervous, but I’m okay by the end of the day
These days weren’t the ones we’ve been dreaming of
Idealistic thoughts when we were on foreign shores
Imagining celebrities dancing in their formalwear
Fancy & festive role models displayed forevermore
Upon the big screen & locked into our minds
Americana lost & the golden age of Hollywood
Stoking the passion of our fervid imaginations
Inspiring our dreams like nothing else ever could
Our hopes & desires abandoned & hung out to dry
March realizations our fantasies are mere celluloid
The cold night, withering on the streets alone
Upon the credits, leaving the theater broke & into the void
Tiptoeing through the trees
Woodland creatures greeting us
Descending further from structure
The quiet overtaking the fuss
We try to be grander than precedent
Yet habit takes a familiar role
Leaving a void in our morale
Purge with fresh air upon the soul
Stone cold stereotypes
We’re lost in the void
Sudden depression creeps
On edge; constantly annoyed
Deep breaths to calm
We’re all out of control
Transparent in our pain
A generation of lost souls
Captain Q 