Let's all be tortured poets letting our words bleed into stories of where this world, this life, these times will take us. Get caught in traps that never were and be a series of not-quites only to feel sorry for wasted talent and promises of youth that we couldn't live up to, and then spend the rest of our days in unexplained silences only we understand. We have anthems ready, innumerable tales of the sorrows we constructed, crafting them carefully until we could envelope ourselves in covers of disillusionment and call it wasted potential. We are the new nonconformists, the anti to your now ancient modern social constructs, the dregs of your baby-booming, money churning, soul crushing pursuits, the self-discoverers, the subjects without your objectivity clouding our judgments. So watch us, watch us as we tap into our inner selves, run after the ultimate spiritual experience, and leave you behind as we chase our quest to be us. Just watch us as we crumble and collide and self-combust.