23 years of age. Days lived,from day one to this day of the 23rd year.
Not full,not empty.Still searching.For something better than what 23 has.
Not angry,not happy.Just afraid that I might loose the last of my cool.Call it fear
Ah,somedays I want to give up the little spark.To hell with the schemes of hope.
But,no spark no fire.
23 years. I am all that I have seen from every side I’ve been.
Secret number one,my walls are too high
Secret number two, too many marks on my back,all over my skin.
And I am ashamed. And I don’t need help!
Sin number one, I gave up the fight
23 years and I can’t win. No iron chin.
Come on now. Yes. The truth must hurt. Which other way for reality to prove it is real but through pain.
23 years I’ve fought. No more of that on the 24th.
I have no hidden secret. My sad heart and sullen mind is open
I have nothing left to hide,read me if you wish.
I’ve been in the cold too long to be afraid. Undress me if you wish
I am fire. I have scorched myself time and again.
I am fine. I have learned the lessons of self humour
What more can I say? Should I say the pain came with the gain?
I have it under control you know,every clown in my circus.
With a soul this old and a body so young, I feel divine without a single want.
23 lines and I have it. The Wisdom of the number 23.