WHEN I was twenty-three, and full with pride,
 I took my pleasures casually and ran
 Off to the next adventure, or romance,
 And thought I was a special sort of man.

I TRAVELED where I wanted, stayed as long
 As I thought wise, given I didn’t think;
 I tried on new ways I could fool the girls,
 Or drowned myself in drink on stinkin’ drink.

YES, I was twenty-three, a magic age,
 And handsome as I ever was, I guess:
 My eyes were glazed with arrogance, and I
 Left others to clean up each brand new mess.

JUST two years later, pills clutched in my fists
 The blood dripped down from where I’d slit my wrists