The Millennial Monster

Mamma always told me “I’m the ringer to another middle finger” a drop out set to run out; born to serve coffee. Two sugars or a lump its one & the same, one day in & two nights out, the flow of the creamer is not what I’m worried about. The paycheck is the bottom line; that fails to define; the place to sign; the meaning of life; the purpose to other than standing in this endless line. I’m the monster born from creation, breed to work & taught to loath imagination, raised to swallow the pills of segregation in a world that de-evolves our own emancipation. They say god looks at us & hold his breath two tone from all the civil unrest; divide & conquer is the digest, but reality is a fickle thing when you’re a millennial you’ll know what I mean: A woke statement is all that you’ll need. The millions it took, to ride out, & die out; to say your own name, fearing the words that cast your own blame. Revolution is a war on spite, grappled by the shadows coined by the right. Fixated on toast, a vote could have helped, but instead we continue to boast of the monster unseen, driven from fear from a benevolent queen. The darker the coffee, the sweeter rhyme; hold fast and unbroken the words now spoken; the trivial motion of a doom’s day approaching; my eagerness is enthusiasm for my generation as we walk on broken glass; the end couldn’t be sooner as its safer out of class.