I am the poetry of no man
         slipping into moods of
      desolation isolation and condemnation
I am the neon truth burning into my chest
from the late night city lights
that I pray on
for answers.
There is no greatness here
and it is so hard to believe that
somewhere in this night is slipping away
our youth like grains of sand through a fist
our experience our now-defined young selves being
lapped away by cruel waves of time and
college and the many pronged
horns of adulthood
that we will be forever more locked into
this wicked, dangerous dance with
each of us struggling with all our might
to resist the long forgetting
to escape from the day
when we will not recognize the blood
on our shirts
stained by
the slow deaths of the great dreams
of our youth.