Only 23, I should be in my prime, I should be happy.
I'm living for nothing, nothing to live for.
No one to turn, no one can see.
I am no longer sure if I am me.
I know what I need to do yet can not.
To accept this fate is to embrace self pity.
Rightly I loathe how I have got.
I am no longer sure how it should be.
Maybe I'm lost, just can't find me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem