As I Stared At the Stars, One Winked Back. (Liz's Journal)

Millennial

MILLENNIAL

We are the junkyard prophets, purple shadows underneath our eyes. We no longer share our prophecies, the future is bleak, we are dying. The world is dying.

We are the graffiti preachers, spraying pur sermons onto concrete and iron. We paint on train cars, hoping someone in the next city will understand, will be saved.

We are sunburnt dreamers, lost in the daytime, stumbling over our feet. We see glittering cities built, artworks never created, books never written. We are scared.

We are suicidal philosophers, taking drags at cigarettes, leaning against a wall, knees bent into our chests as we debate life and death, even as we burn in ours.

We are causeless martyrs, leaping among every new cause, desperately looking for reasons to sacrifice, an idea that we can throw ourselves behind, give our lives.

We are voiceless revolutionaries, typing furiously in Times New Romans, begging for change, for a better way. We are always silenced with apathy and disinterest.

We are the next generation. We grew up in the wreckage of a world we would soon inherit. We are tired. We are angry. We know that it doesn't have to be this way.