I am weary and old,
In an untraditional sense

Sweet sixteen has closed its doors on me
Yet adult eighteen is not ready to greet me

Either way, I am old
And have always been

Old does not mean wise,
But weary

I am just seventeen,
But the questions are ceaseless

Life scares me to death,
Time pulls me closer

It scares me to think,
"These questions wont leave me"

Year after year,
I'll be clueless and lonely

In an untraditional sense
It is lonely within me

Questions, which **** me softly,
A cancer of my mind

Needing no one,
Because lonely is greater
Than human interaction

And "lonely" is "seventeen"
That goes on forever.