new age depression

we were the chosen ones

heavy hearts

teary eyes

our title is the broken sons

our sad demeanor

the lowest moods

we're the humble broods

in the grips of depression

full throttle, empty bottle, signs of our regression

plastered on the news front page

they're trying to figure out the new age

"what makes adolescents so sad?"

we are reigned by trauma

crippled minds

solemn times

our souls are confined

to a desolate room

can't you taste the doom?

apathy is our middle name

flat expressions glued to a blue screened machine

we're falling into the ravine

body by body

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