By the time I was seventeen I was twenty-one

If you were to judge me on what I had done

Drinking and drugs and worse things

Flying high without having any wings

Crumbling like dirt into the ground

Spiraling further and further down

Buried beneath depression to never escape

I found the truth after it was too late

Needles and blades in my skin deep

What I continuously sewed I did reap

Now the Grim Reaper has come to reap me

I died at fifty when I was twenty-three