the birthday

my birthday passed in a second after weeks of impatience, now all i do is wish for it all back. all i can think is that i wasted my childhood, but i still can't find myself. nothing feels important. i follow what is told to me as the correct timeline. i feel the temporary euphoria of a new obsession, soon returning to my dull default. i can only wish to have lived the lives of those witnessing the beginning of society's downfall, unknowing of the conditions accepted for. the later generations