Suicides.

The young ones are killing themselves these days
it seems, like it is a new drink to order
at a hipster bar on a Friday night as we slouch

decked in tight jeans and flannel. Is it a statement

these droves of suddenly snuffed youth? Or a wash,
white noise we don't even notice
because the drip drip drip of another
just doesn't echo quite so loudly?

The young ones are killing themselves these days
it seems, and I'm not sure if it's quitting
or winning that their act signifies. We can be angry

at their selfishness, their sacrifice. We can question
why they didn't extend arms
or act less brashly. From plummeting off buildings
to pulling triggers. It is momentary.

The young ones are killing themselves these days.
Two in two months, I know on tangent
and brief interaction. One, without focus
or fight, one with designs and drive
and too many eyes for too little years.

I can still begin my days quite the same
from shutting alarms to shuffling quietly
to leaky faucets. My tangets are still
safely far and securely distant.

Soon I will not be the young ones and my eyes
will need more in order to see. The young ones
are disintegrating these days, from age
or lack of it.