My fingers be cracking
Signs of my skeletal frame compacting
Lines of words that I'm retracting
I'm getting old. Getting lonely. Losing vision
Tired of being told and judged for my own decision
Mired in the present
Staring up at the crescent
Daring thoughts bubbling in my cup
Oozing out staining my mug
Look inside and tell me what's up
If you spot my heart strings, give them a tug