Sad Youth
We are on the bottom of Bukowski's glass
Are we dead? Are we death?
We are sick bleeding lungs
No justice. No laughter. Just numb
Our eyes have adjusted to the darkness
To the cold room in the glow of cement
Our madness is kept in the purple surface
Of exhausted skin and hearts
Each subdued despaired voice
Burns veins with anxiety
Each black letter is
The faith of sad youth
The loneliness is our best friend
Blue nights. Red eyes. Black days
We are sad youth
Writer/s: Orpha
