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Where are we?
Dead at seventeen
Aspiring to perfection
Of emaciated highs
Split second skin
So fake
Can't win
We are aching
Dead living
Where are we?
Blood stained, diseased
Messed in the head
Esteem
Is for those with egos
Truth
What good could you know?
Raped youth
Images of purest people
Swallowed whole
Be Nice, You're Obliged
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Yeah I agree with "jadedsubmersion": this is more fragments of a poem rather than a complete piece. I did love the lines: "Aspiring to perfection/Of emaciated highs," though.
I definitely like this poem. The only thing that I feel takes away from it is that there isn't enough emotional imagery to 'stun' the reader, in my honest opinion.
