" I’ve seen you, wearing ‘DGAF’ like a badge. You scream it at shows while you light a cigarette indoors. I’ve seen you, red-eyed and whiskey breathed, throwing up in the bathroom so they’ll call you’re cute. But no one will kiss away the puke in your hair wipe the ash from your cheek. You don’t care, so long as they call you ‘cool’, right? You laugh, “I’m just a fuck up,” and walk into concerts with your fists up after chugging a beer in the parking lot. Cool, cool, you’re so fucking cool. You laugh at your friends for having jobs, then use the money your mother gave you for school books to buy weed. You could talk for hours about the things you hate about ‘the system’ but can’t offer one solution on how to fix it. I admire you for spending so much of your energy pretending you don’t care so that the kids pressed against the bricks, burning cigarettes into their skin, will care about you. Oh God, it must be so exhausting to be that cool. "