I am here,
yet I’m not,
seemingly
unaware of being
as being
should be
(or so I’m told).

No longer young,
no more
spreading out
beside some
young thing,
waiting to see
what she'll bring.

I'm getting old,
(so I’m told),
feeling
the aches more,
the pains
like companions,
sneak up close,
snuggle
into the bone.

I am here,
yet,
at the end
of it all,
I am alone.