They shout it as advice
They think they’re helping
Adults spew their cautionary tales
From the balcony of age
They are too high to hear
I say I’m scared
They yell I’m fine
I mutter a plea for help
But they can’t hear it over the roar of regret
They are too focused in on the sound of their story
To notice how the pressure to enjoy myself builds
And they watch with hollow eyes as I collapse
Still reminiscing