Old
3 min readJul 28, 2021
Middle-age, and who am I now?
Grey hairs, and a tattered coat upon a stick?
Where is the man who thought he would die
an infamous writer, in a drunken car crash
at twenty-three? Key-rash, kaboom.
And like everyone I know — I feel hope eternally,
though I feel eternally twenty-three years old.
