You take a hit off the cigarette.
It’s the first you’ve ever tried it.
You’re not sure if it’s right, but they encourage you as you inhale.
You gave in.

You take a sip of the beer.
You’ve never even drank before.
You’re wondering why it feels wrong, but they say it’s just the buzz, you’ll like it.
You gave in.

You get in the car with your drunken friends.
You promised yourself you’d never do this.
You tell them to slow down, but they tell you to relax, so you’re quiet.
You gave in.

You go over to his house, when no one is there.
You know you don’t love him.
But you go over anyway; he tells you to undress, and you listen.
You gave in.

You sneak out at midnight and go to a party.
You’re careful, so your parents never know.
Your friends are reckless, and you’re sick to your stomach as you help trash the place.
You gave in.

You steal your mom’s cash to lend to your friends.
You lie and say you have no idea where the money is.
Your friends spend it all on drugs, and you wonder what your mom had it saved for.
You gave in.

You parents are away, so your friends come over.
You’re worried sick that your parents will know.
They come home early, they’re livid, and they ask what happened to their daughter.
You got caught.

You can’t bear the disappointment; you decide to leave.
You know it’ll kill them; they care so much.
You pack your bags, grab as much cash as you can find, and you leave, forever.
You gave up.