Death like a leaky pipe creeps virally across the autumn/winter cusp, an eerie reminder of the fragility of every entity. From man-made waterworks to the more natural essence of life, anything could crumble and dissipate. Worldly toxins inject into culture as a stimulant of the mind or a recreational way to pass the time. Stricken are the youth, once hooked by the deepest sinking lines. Sunken are the youth, too bored to get by, too miserably discontent to just accept the bevy of opportunities they’ve been gifted with. Too misguided and pretentious to merely grab hold of the helping hand they’ve been born with, like a comic balloon hovering above them since infancy. A gracious, glowing hand - ready - to pull them through all the troubles of the American youth: from detention at their air-conditioned educational facilities to tampering in their mother’s medicine cabinets. The disgruntling youth rejects the helping hand, be it attached to a parent, teacher, neighbor, no! No hand is skilled enough to quell the eternal question: “How am I going to entertain myself tonight?” As if the plethora of media today can’t pleasure the mind too screen-shock from a life of iToys, no, they still turn to the never passe intoxicants to pass the day away. Tortured youth, I will not lecture you as your ears are ringing with phantom noises anyway. I only ask, that while you breathe, you do something worthy of engraving as your epitaph.
