My hands so cold
Weary and old
My hair turning grey
As they all say
My eyes getting tired
No longer admired
My body growing weak
Every other week
My pace while I walk
Has decreased like I talk
My style of cooking
Is almost as choking
Am I too old for works?
Or am I burden by mocks
Am I too hurt inside?
That the impact shows outside
Am I unhappy with my life?
That every corner spikes a knife
What is wrong with me?
Why can't I be what I used be?
Everything seems so blurry
My pills finish in a hurry
Laying on my death bed
Memories evolving out sad
The disease in me has no cure
But my love to him was pure
I'm tired, much tired of being awake
Desperately waiting for them to take
Living my torn body here
And my soul up there
A place full of joy and care
Where there's no charge nor fare
By the way I have a Monday fever
Thinking to let go off me at the river
I know I sound crazy
I am not dying yet, am just too lazy...

©sim