Tomorrow doesn't remember names or faces
And neither do we anymore,
So it's hard to believe in barstool smiles,
Disposable lullabies,
And plastic goodnights
When you're just as deceptive as everyone else.
So even if you scream into the receiver
It doesn't change the fact that you have nothing to say.
If we could taste more than blood and cigarettes
Every syllable would be full of intention,
And every smile might actually find a ride home.
But nothing is worse than a wasted word
If it touches no one.
It is the battle cry of our generation,
And the final, gasping breath of empathy.















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