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| She grew up and turned out nothing like she had ever expected. When she reflects she thinks about her Barbies and dresses. Twenty-nine, doing time on the edge of her bed, Laughing to herself about the big tattoo on her forehead. She's innocent, but she was close to the edge, One more step and she probably would have been dead. It's ironic how she got here, but she's glad to be alive. She says to herself— “How does this happen? How do we know?” Lying in this deathbed, he looks around in disbelief. He made it to one hundred, but this is strange, don't you think? The people around him he's only known for thirty years. He takes one of his last breaths and accepts life is weird. Where's the first wife and childhood best friend? When he was twenty he used to imagine the end Full of faces from people he knew back then, But, “Oh, well, life was so good,” he says. He used to play music and turn it up loud. After so many years, hearing loss was bound to happen. He's learning to sign, but he wants to cry. Without the music in his head he says he couldn't survive. He writes albums a day that will never be heard, Not even by him. Isn't that a shame? He knows it's life and part of his path. He still has his past, and now he doesn't have to listen to anyone. I'll wait for you in the dark where no one else can find us. I'll be watching. I'll be waiting here for you. |
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