Generation Gap by A.J. Huffman

You hate me for what I am not,
for refusing to cloak myself in obscurity
and fade into the background.
You stick my own pen in my breast,
inscribing me:  obsolete.
Until I fill the floor with the flood
of red nothing you see.

I accept your curse.
I realize I shall never be anything
and am bound to become content
in the nothing I have achieved.
I declare myself not you.
And smile
as I wrap myself in the animosity
of my life and art.

I resign.
And take comfort in the arms of my generation:
Degeneration.