The stereotypes of my generation,
Mannequins with artificial, glued-on smiles,
Getting high on Zoloft, writing equations
On the black holes of chalk-boards, meanwhile,
Life passes by like an ex in see-through
Marijuana smoke through their blood-shod eyes,
Through their pitch-dark rooms where the sun has ceased to
I despise clocks and watches, but adore photos.
I adore memory for it’s filled with potholes,
Where the time freezes and expands like water,
I adore puddles.
I adore reflections, but despise shadows,
On the pale white walls that attract them like magnets.
I despise emptiness for it makes things shallow,
I adore fragments.