PUNK'S NOT DEAD ITS JUST RESTING

I am the general average crazy kind of citizen,
Spiked denim jacket (covered in patches) wearing denizen
Minor threat and Nathaniel Hawthorne in my head again
I am anti-authoritarian and pro-gothic romantic literature
I am worried about the same exact things you were:
My poetry, my east side and central reputation, my silence;
All the letters I'll never send,
And never get,

And my goddam Instagram.
I'm spending my Friday night
French-press-coffee-staining a new white shirt
But a coffee stain is a minor threat-
The safety and sanctity of a shade so pure was never a safe bet
Not my money not my problem
A pill-popping, Pepsi-rocking society stuttering over its own ADD
Long live overcaffeinated generation RX
In the other corner, weighing in at one million pounds, team X-X-X
What a shameful lackluster lack of a legacy
The generation that never broke anything.
You know how many girls I wanted to marry?
Three,
But it doesn't matter because they all left me
Absolutely crazy

In love,
And though lying with her was my absolute comfort,
One changed her mind like a lying politician
And the next so skinny with boy hips and berry lips,
We ruined each other and still hoped to kiss again
In young hallways, and anyway, she found another redhead.
I found a blonde earlier this year and ran scared
Ran to a bespectacled and mustached man
Only to be butchered by his calloused hands-
ome looks; they were killer.
He was filler

He was offended, when I called him a joke
A "laughable mistake" what actually exactly what I wrote
And I wish it didn't hurt him so
All I was trying to say
Is that he once made me smile.