We are living in the Invincible Age.

Our recklessness is not just a phase.

We drive too fast and drink too much.

We parkour up buildings, down staircases, and such.

But we do know our lives are fragile;

Our self pity is just in exile,

From our minds and our hearts.

We mark up our arms and call it art,

Art that’s etched into our veins,

Hiding us from our internal pain,

That we no longer have the capacity to cope with.

A solution? Buy some dope and take a whiff,

And collide death into your lives.

We find being close to the end gives us a new kind of high.

We no longer care if we rise or fall,

Whether at the edge of a blade or from the other side of a call,

That tears our heart’s four chambers apart,

Our secrets now pierced against the wall by a dart,

As they fire blindly at everything you are,

Criticizing and belittling and leaving new scars,

That imprint their words upon your soul;

Throw your heart into a freezer to make it cold,

Because a warm heart attracts the heat-seeking missiles,

Tearing through the air like a violent whistle,

That only you can hear.

Death is not what we fear.

It’s living in a world that excels at standing against you.

It holds a gun to your head and you tell it to shoot,

Because we live in the Invincible Age,

And this is no longer just a phase.

It’s what we call our comfort zone,

And, together, we suffer here alone.