Thinking about my daughter today made me remember this old poem, and it was resurrected

I’m seventeen…I won’t die
From getting high
One little smoke, one little toke
One or two drinks are okay
A few pills to make my day
Or maybe just one fix

I’m twenty-five…I didn’t die
From getting high
I tried the smoke, the exstacy
I took the pills
They didn’t kill me
it's just getting by
except for the occasional fix

Thirty-five, I’m still alive
Didn’t die, from getting high
Course the smoke is now a joke
And the pill just ain’t no thrill
Still like to drink, but best of all
Is that little fix

Fifty-five, God, am I still alive
I’m so tired of getting high
Sometimes I wish
That I would die
From the crack I smoke
The deadly toke
The pills I crush, hoping for a rush
In that one last fix

I was right, I didn’t die
though now i sometimes try
and when i fail i sit and cry
Wishing I’d never started
Getting high


Dying isn't always the worst thing to happen from getting high