and so i puke my own little heart

once i was young and weightless

and the wind blew kisses on my tender flesh

and springtime was oh, so crystalline

and i knew only smoke through sunburnt skin.

but a hasty whittler caught hold of me

and carved lines into my face

and now my lungs are filled with smog

and now my chest is made of lead

dear Lord, how come

although i've got so much ahead

not yet ended the teens

i droop my head in a farewell?