I'm a thousand years old.
It goes on and on.
Never ends.

Reality pushing itself upon me,
Trying not to cut myself.

The measuring tape isn't long enough,
The noose will snap.

It's not surprising,
I can't carry my weight either.

Red nose. Swollen eyes. White face.
I could go on and on,
But breathing gets difficult.

Shouldn't it stop after a while?
The pain? No, the breathing.