we love less; yes

They ask,
Why,
In this generation of us,
We fall in love no more,
Hold hands less, and desire the arms of another even lesser,
But,
Tell them,
We’ve been broken, again and again,
From whence,
We fell in love in our young age,
Tender and untouched,
Underneath our parents’ whisky breath,
Cowering from the clouds of smoke,
Billowing from they mouths,
Darkened kissy lips and chimney noses.
We are the children,
That were lost in their merrymaking and early morning sexing,
Whose virginity,
Was stolen by our dads, moms,
Brothers, sisters,
And nannies disguised as aunties.
We are the generation they fucked,
In their sexual frustrations.

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