I am 17 years of age. I turn 18 in October, I have had my faults, I walk a black line in this world of suffering, in endless hopes. I am modest and looking for retribution and looking for peace. I am broken and my heart is wretched to this foul taste in my mouth. I am the weeping willow next to a dying pond. Spirit is despairing and my heart is fading. I am lost in my roots, frazzled and ready to collapse. My sap is spewing out and my heart is ready to stop. I am alone, life in my body but darkness filling me whole. I am in a peaceful place but I am alone. A fragile light dispenses at my last breath, I walk to it. A figure stands before me, it is a hand pulling me through, I found my other half. I am whole once more. The light is my guide but the living is my shadow. I am alone and everyone is bitter.