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You were the generation meant to change the world.
Meant to cure cancer and establish a
peaceful, people-driven government.
A generation of genuises, so burned-out on intellect,
so jaded by all you knew,
that you opted to use your mental power
on opening cash registers, and asking the line,
"Would you like to see that in a different color?".
You knew all there was to know
about sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll,
and instead of using this knowledge
to educate the masses, you used it
to figure out new ways to cook Crystal Meth,
and what combination of uppers and downers
would allow you to do keg stands all night long,
and still get up for class in the morning.
Some of your best could have been the new Jackson Pollock
and I'm sickened everytime I see your latest work
printed on the front of an ADIDAS t-shirt.
The valdictorian of your class,
behind the counter of some pharmacy,
filling out prescriptions of the newest drug
meant to sedate your siblings,
the ones who look up to you, but are too out of it
to realize you failed them.
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