I Can Be Nineteen And I Want To Die

I hate this part right here,
there’s too much gloom and not much cheer.
Counting down from ten to one,
I can be in Heaven and I’ll be done.

Nineteen is the year
that I shed the most tears,
the searing pain in my soul
that transformed me into a faceless ghoul.

Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen
passing by without being seen.
I was the tiny, timid mouse with nary a squeak,
the veil covering my face from which I didn’t dare peek.

Fifteen, fourteen till twelve
I didn’t know anything and everything was a hidden valve.
I sailed into myriad accidents,
but things still weren’t yet evident.

When I was twelve, my mother went into the hospital
and we had to pack up and move nearer the capital.
Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven
was when things started getting weird and scarily uneven.

Dad started yelling and throwing stuff
around and things stopped being a fairytale made of fluff.
I was young, I was scared,
and probably that was when I got scarred.

I learned about cookie-cutter cutting
my arms, so it could all stop hurting.
I fingered through mom’s anti-depressant meds,
and it was then I learned the boy species were all cads.

Six, five, four, three,
I wished I’d been born a tree.
Three, two, one,
nothing’s over, everything’s done.

Go straight down to Ground Zero,
I finally know I’m not going to have a hero.
Disappear, vanish, die
off on me. Don’t cry; it was all just a lie.

If I’d never been born,
I wouldn’t be sitting here, worn and torn.
I wouldn’t be guzzling morphine by the junket,
and vomiting it all back up in a bucket.

To be nineteen, is to be free;
for me everything is screaming for me to flee.
To be the greatest mistake
of anyone’s life, for that is what God has dictated.

Nineteen is the year I lost my reality,
surrendered my morality,
experienced the exhilaration of the supreme,
and took life to its greatest extreme.

Living like the great pretender
in the glass house with the salamander.
Missing a parent, and mourning a loss,
waking up from the land of candyfloss.

The wind colluded with the stars
to shut me out by bringing down the heavenly bars.
For my love of all Nature,
it let me down by vanishing from my future.

Without sight of my beloved,
I couldn’t spread my wings to soar above
it all, trapped like a voiceless canary,
I was left to continue on with a meaningless story.

Girl with the still-beating heart,
I want to be okay so I’m taking it all apart.
The wind is throwing ice-cubes of pain in my face,
I need to bleed it out so my wounds can heal back in place.

Twelve and below,
it was pure innocence moving me along the flow.
The year I turned nineteen,
the Devil made it my year of sin.

I can be nineteen, and want to die.
Oh no, don’t you dare cry.
A life with infinite pain where the whole world mourn,
and I just ardently wish, I’ve never been born.