I am young; Foolish, brave, depraved In an innocent way. I feel strong and alive, Sometimes ready to die.
At other times not so much. I’ll lay awake terrified, Stumbling lost through a wet, hot night. Aware, Far too aware, Of time Breathing down my neck.
And then I rage. Gnash and bite at the flashing taunts From such impossible heights. Until, eventually, as the coming of a headache, I notice the sun rise. Which reminds me, like a note in the handwriting Of some long dead friend, That I am young, And alive, again.