new world order

there is nothing left.
your smile drowns in the half drunk coffee
and suddenly, it's afternoon.
we reminisce a little,
feeling absolutely nothing,
not even the post-modern spleen,
not even the mid-life contempt
not even rage of present day,
we sit and talk.
a quietness, like milk,
secluding us from every stirring,
our minds, a vast, deep sea of whiteness,
blankness, of acceptance
like dogs before they kill them.
we don't lie, the truth just failed to happen.
we do not question our existence
we do not call ourselves 'the lost',
because the name's already taken .
our bodies die, unused,
as we watch from a distance,
feeling nothing,
nameless, shameless
apparatus of rememberance,
the unnoticed generation,
left with nothing
to improve.