I've been on this earth for 17 years as of today.
About 7 of those years I have wanted to die. Maybe not right away, but it just grew like a weed, enclosing on my heart and crushing my lungs. Spinning around my spine into my brain, and killing every bit of happiness there.
So I have to act happy that I've made it another year. I don't want to be 17, or 16 or even 15. I've been wanting to be dead for so long, and you don't age when you're dead. So I'm not happy I made it another year. In fact, it's like life is taunting me with the fact that I'm still in its long crooked claws. That I know there's no way out, so why not have fun with me after the fact right?
So I'm 17, and I absolutely hate it.
