There's something wrong with life
if all it can think about is death.
It feels sleepy tired and alone
on the brink of vanishing
the rigid spine slouching on it's throne
the starry blue eyes gazing with blurry despair
the weary old woman once so young and fair
creeping and swaying the claws of death tear
at our minds our hearts our souls that bare
the weight of that thought
of eternity to scare
the never ending cycle
of death and despair.