Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2012
I fear for myself at thirty, forty for these walls of life’s Gloom
Are closing fast on the cubicle of my Young existence
Like a tepidly-loved first job that becomes your Life’s Work
And with each head-rushing spin of that ageing Despair, your Life’s Blood ebbs
Slowly, painfully; I am an old woman beneath this taut flesh, beneath these soft lips.
I am as withered as Summer’s first raspberry
Whose Juice has fully been Drunk.
Anna Zagerson
Written by
Anna Zagerson  Brooklyn, NY
(Brooklyn, NY)   
1.5k
   Always Ally
Please log in to view and add comments on poems