about me, my poetry, this is life, this is my family

Old But Not Quite


Old but not quite
A song plays and it paints a familiar air of ominous tunes in the still air.
Old but not quite.
Surely does not feel likew thirty-six…
Maybe sixteen
Especially with the shackles tight around my hands and feet. I am a prisoner and I drag painstakingly along, creating screeching sounds that deafen in the silence of the night.

Old but not quite
Shadows hungrily await to pounce and cut any life source that supplies me.
Old but not quite.
I remember being sixteen. That was better cus my age justifies the hovering, the prodding, the judgment, and the crucifixion.
But at thirty-six the control is suffocating and I am brought to my last breath, minute-by-minute. Desperate for a resuscitation of some sort.

Old but not quite
Just… merely an illusion
Because no one ever gets old enough
Not here… INSERT the pain

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1 thought on “Old But Not Quite”

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