I am a child no longer, nor am I yet an adult.

I cannot be innocent, where I am blinded to life's troubles like a lone white petal, carried through the breeze.

I cannot be wise, to face and persevere through conflicting matters, the vehement and ruthless river that it is.

I want to catch the children, those who are playing in the rye field close to the cliff, but I am at the brink myself.

A surge of adrenalin in me unravels the seams to all that is holding myself together, but I accept my fate as dirt crumbles in my hands.

It will be soon that I fall...

into oblivion.