Eighteen

The hours tick by, snatching the strands of my hair (Still blonde, but growing darker by the day) The sigh of the shadows casts the sunbeam upon me As I walk barefoot into the polluted bay. How have I gotten here? Who am I today, To call this body at the age of eighteen? My fingers shake, but not of old age, I am afraid of what more life would bring. The days roll by, like the clouds over the sea crashing down when they've gone too close to shore. Oh, that I could just be one of the seagulls, Nevermore would I cry, nevermore on the floor. How have I gotten here? Who am I to run, To run from this body at only eighteen? My sapphire eyes are open, taking in the possibilities, Ready for whatever this life may bring.