When I turn 18
I'm gonna exercise my rights
That atrophied muscle I was denied
Since I was born.
I'm gonna start with a lotto ticket
And a pack of cigarettes
(don't think I'll smoke them though)*

I turned 18 eleven days ago
And since then my dreams
Like puffs of smoke from the cigarettes
I never bought
Have dissipated into air that just barely occupies my lungs
I have no home
No family
No rights to the one thing I wanted
The one thing I convinced myself I deserve:
Happiness.
Gangrene eats the atrophied fibers
And loss of hope eats my soul
Aren't these trials supposed to make me stronger?
Or am I too weak?
I don't want to carry on.