I’m going to stop something that caused a great deal of pain.
I’m going to travel back and stop my son from taking cocaine.
He died from an overdose when he was only fourteen.
It’s taken me nearly ten years to build a time machine.
He started using cocaine in 2003.
My wife left because she blames me.
I’m going to travel back to the day when he took cocaine for the first time.
I’m going to stop him from buying it and turn the drug dealer in for his crime.
I’ll see to it that that drug pusher rots in jail.
I’ll have my family back and life won’t be a living hell.
People laugh when I say that I’m going to travel back in time but they won’t laugh anymore.
My son will not perish like he originally did on New Year’s Day of 2004.
I’ve set the controls on my time machine and soon my life will no longer be grim.
As I hold my son in my arms, I’ll be proud that I was able to save him.

(This is a fictional poem.)