My generation is worthless.

I say this with the greatest affection, dear generation

I’m worthless myself.

I’m self-centered and have a medical excuse for every mood.

I want to kiss you on the forehead, you self-conscious hipsters and scene girls

Deaf to the screams of the beatniks

And the laughter echoing down the cold streets from the Cabaret Voltaire.

You wear your emptiness with such innocence

Drink your traumas without horror and still my endless screams.

Sweet mallgoth, may I bum a menthol-nepenthe cigarette?