All good things

And we were fifteen, sitting late amongst friends,
floating ahead of clouds, against pop beats,
feeding on appearances alone,
our fabrics untied, unbound,
we had faith, and gods one for each,
and discovered new ones everyday,
there was gonna be a day, when...for everything.

We got tossed high, and words didn't scare us,
thoughts did not embarrass us,
the world could still surprise us,
interest us.

Words shook us, images spurred us,
we were sold much, and we imagined the rest,
and we thought we'd live those handful photographs alone.
24ness of hours did not strike us.

Our generation was supposed to change stuff, but
now we see us falling, one by one,
fitting one legacy or another,
dying to believe in what we hear,
quietened, reduced to small talk, or status updates,
lost in repetitive excesses, or conveniently paired off,
counting, following, advising, presenting, concluding.
Everyone must know a thousand fifteen year olds extinguished.
We got fucked bad.