The smoking lounge was japanese-- 
More pillows than chairs. 
The bathroom was screaming college boys 
Who had no regard for their downstairs neighbors. 

Five minute epiphanies were lost 
To cans of premium beer. 
Long distance phone calls were lost 
In the hallway shuffle. 
Tempers were lost 
To months of unnoticed build-up. 

It was my first lemon-flavored cola and the 
First real sense of pride I'd ever had. 
I was the spirit of everything 
We'd always stood for. 
I was to be the next torch-bearer, 
But things were falling apart. 

He sat on the floor and stared 
At a wall draped in black fabric. 
The voices echoing down the hall 
Made him wince and glare... and frown. 
All the rum in the world wouldn't drown his sorrows 
Or make him speak his mind. 

Creativity was dead. 

I was barely pleasantly buzzed; 
He was barely pleasant. 
But we were the embodiement 
Of everything things used to be. 

Art was dead. 

Christmas candy was sprawled 
Out on the floor like Halloween. 
Beer was in patio cups 
Masquerading as ginger ale. 

Society was dead. 

They forgot how to be cordial, how to be tolerant, 
To be a family, a mere community. 
He graduated and I was left looking 
For someone to pass the torch to. 

December 6th, 2001