I used to be young, and remember still The thoughts I had so many years ago, And reason with my former self until I have no reason left, but to forego Whatever made me happy, sad, resolved, As if an ancient passion could preserve The corpse of my forgotten self dissolved In pity, doubt and anger I deserve, Why I did certain things, I cannot see Past stubborn repetition of the same, I cannot change but always yet to be The person I despise, my thoughts are lame: This brain that made mistakes is still distressed With all the damage done but not redressed