I remember when,
Months and years had a measurement of time.
When life was so small and intricate.
How slowly wrinkles use to show.
Now cement crease the smiles from yesterdays places.
Times like these remind me,
How hours turned to minutes,
And years turned to months,
Til eventually the years glass is up.
And when my final glass run dry,
I know there'd been no life left in me anyways.