Teenage Snapshot

It softly speaks; do you hear it?

A whisper carried on doubt, given shape by confusion.

It mumbles, it groans, it roars.

it screams for the haze and heat of the moment, and the only ones who seem to hear it are us. 

We listen to it's cries, how it yells for us to carry out its wishes of hate. 

Why do we listen to the shout of our disillusion, our own messenger of ungratefulness?

Because we cannot control ourselves.

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