18, and she's already drowned herself in a river of tears.
they say that high school's either the best or the worst years.
well her body was a museum of a bitter and broken history.
the cause of that catastrophe still remains an unsolved mystery.
21, and she's hidden herself behind an impenetrable fort
because the dominant memories of family were the pain they brought.
and friends were only around during mindless pursuits of fun.
but this wasn't what she wanted. so friends she counted none.
30, and she's fallen in love with a handsome charming lad.
loves her, loves her not. surely that game had driven her mad.
it wasn't the first love, or whatever sadistic variation of this emotion.
she took a step in the wrong direction, and ran far far away from that commotion.
40, and her career is as bright and brilliant as it could be.
that bright red coupé in that magnificent mansion she had the key.
not by working hard like a dog, but working like an undignified mutt.
she'd dug her own grave inside this beautiful, luxurious rut.
50, and she never really made her peace with God.
didn't find the comfort, and everything seemed so odd.
the childish faith that was once invincible never made its way back.
and all these years she felt, and willingly let the devil attack.
60, and all those childhood dreams seemed like those of a fool.
because she never got any kind words of affirmation as fuel.
so she chased what would give her recognition and respect.
but rather it is was the art of emptiness she did perfect.
70, and her health and willpower decided to stop fighting its war.
that lonely heart stopped beating, and lonely, she moved no more.
who knows what she would have given to have her story relived.
it would seem that she never actually died, because she had never actually lived.