Peace be to all the haters.
They're the content children, pulling
globs of clay from their foundations
and throwing fits, throwing things on the floor.
They get what they want -
they get a riot.
Only the youth die young.
They're bound to iPod earplugs that
act as postnatal umbilical chords, clotting
our heads with ghetto trash and false reasons to rebel.
We get what we want -
individuality and alienation.
The optimists are the lonely ones;
they're desperately pulling threads
and seeking slack, fingers working overtime
to make up for being so severely understaffed.
We find fault in the system -
we lose each generation we create.