We are the lost generation.

Stuck perpetually between the sepia past and the technicolour future, we throw tears around like confetti. We revel in self-created darkness and chaos.

Fiery ambition tearing through our skin like a third-degree burn, alongside malice and anger. Blood, blacker than blood, and soul, more sin than soul. Pain.

Impatient to grab the bloody, battered baton of the world from our fathers and mothers, impatient for yet more novelty. Stumbling, almost aimlessly, through a world of melting ice and nuclear bombs and mistakes, mistakes, mistakes.

Burnt far too many times, yet we are unafraid to play with fire. Afraid, however, of ourselves- our destructive, insane, uncontrollable selves. Dreaming of dying when we’re twenty-seven.

We are here. We are now. We are tired tears and fuzzy midnight memories. We are pounding hearts and heads and silent screams and yet another dysmorphic, depressing thought that threatens our sanity- or what remains of it.

We are the lost generation.