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Twenty-One At Seventeen

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

Review Request (Intensity): 
Please use care (this is a sensitive subject for me, do not critique harshly)
Last few words: 
Old before my time.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

a great poem...it was like reading a page out of my diary or looking in the mirror... you understand. I managed to extract myself from that life/death.

*hugs, Cat

When someone reads your work
And responds, please be courteous
And reply in kind, thanks.

Thanks Cat. I am glad you survived.

author comment

Depressed 1 for telling your tale. It may help someone to avoid taking the path that we did and let them live a "normal" life.
It was told simply and most effectively. Typo alert! [too late]. Nice job! ~ Geezer.
.

Thanks for reading Geezer

author comment
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