If I were eighteen once again,

Alive, I would not be…

for all that awaits is cold, dark pain,

biding its time to swallow me.

Call me a coward, call me a fool,

I do not care, you see.

Never again do I wish to feel the pull

of the pain that is waiting for me.

On my soul, icy tendrils gets its hold…

Ohh, so hard to break its grasp.

So many tears that are cried, all alone and cold

always struggling to undo its tight clasp.

So if I were eighteen once again…

I could see the torment that lay ahead.

Pills would beckon me, so I could crush the pain

and be at peace in the Land of the Dead.



© August 29, 2001

Author's Notes/Comments: 

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