Standing in the dark, your heart turns cold,
Wondering where you lost your hold.
Was it five, when you smoked your first weed,
And for the first time felt like you could breathe?
Or was it six, when you stole your first drink,
Before you were old enough to stop and think?
How did it feel with already failing lungs,
Growing up soaked in smoke while you were still so young?
When the people you trusted said, "This is just what we do."
Was that just a slip... or the first crack breaking through?
Was it the slip? Was it the fall?
Or was it the first domino that started it all?
Maybe eleven, that first line of meth,
A borrowed piece of heaven stealing every breath.
Or maybe fourteen, when they thought you were gone,
A child drowning in liquor before life had begun.
Maybe fifteen, when playing around
Turned into forever the day your son was found.
Sixteen came fast—you were still just a kid,
Trying to raise a family while barely knowing how to live.
How did it feel with an already failing mind,
Growing through poison one hit at a time?
When the people around you called destruction "living free,"
Did you ever have a chance... or was that always destiny?
Was it the slip? Was it the fall?
Or was it the first domino that started it all?
Seventeen—you ran, trying to outrun the pain,
But miles can't wash addiction from your veins.
Then she found someone else and closed that door,
Leaving you with a broken heart and a son worth fighting for.
Eighteen—first jail cell, fists and rage.
Behind cold bars you turned another page.
There you met the woman who'd soon carry your son,
Still believing somehow your life had just begun.
Nineteen—you dealt to keep food on the shelf,
Trying to save your family while losing yourself.
Then one night protecting the ones that you loved,
The choices you made were judged from above.
Twenty—the judge spoke louder than you ever had.
One hundred years... and everything went black.
Twenty-one... Fish Row became my home.
Surrounded by concrete, finally alone.
I looked in the mirror through steel and stone,
And swore from that day I'd walk this road alone.
No more needles.
No more bottles.
No more smoke to bury the pain.
If I couldn't change the sentence,
I'd change the man wearing the chains.
Angry_Elf
