The supports are rotting.
I feel each creak and pop,
A symphony of decrepitude,
Joints unreliable and failing.
It's harder to arise each morning,
Back and hips sore from sedentary slumber,
Eyes blurry from disrupted sleep.
Ambulating more slowly every day,
Distances seem longer than they ever were before,
Familiar routes grown strange and treacherous.
I don't recognize the face in the mirror,
Supple skin grown saggy,
Jowls grown heavy.
Only the eyes are familiar,
Still bright and glowing,
The last ember slowly fading,
Witness to the relentless passage of time.
I will be buried in this body someday.
About the Creator
Catsidhe
Pronounced Cat-she: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cat-s%C3%ACth
What can I say about myself?
A mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a walking coffin
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments (1)
Well, that’s making me feel the passage of time. Great job!