I'm feeling a thousand years old,
my head is grey, as grave as pale,
dead faces. I'm already dead,
as of now, I'm reflecting on it.

I'm feeling a thousand years old
like a thousand year old patient
with a black hole for a soul
and curtains over the head
to keep it dark like the black universe
but the stars are supernovas
split open like a woman
giving birth to despair.
She bleeds pain from her eyes,
clear like deep epiphanies.

I'm feeling a thousand years old,
my head is grey like heavy clouds,
it rains all day and never stops,
I want to shed
my hair like teardrops
from my cheeks to the floor,
sad, deranged and nothing more.

I'm feeling a thousand years old
like a thousand year old agent
of reproduction. I'm giving birth
to so much chaos and entropy,
it amazes me. I don't see
any reason to live,
any reason to be.