Age cripples because it allows
Gravity to have its way and it
Then pushes and shoves you to
An early grave...
Your bones don't object, nor does
Your flesh - they sag, and they bend
And they break, and they splinter in to
Unrecognizable pieces who welcome a
Final resting place with worms who
Then feast upon what used to support and
Uphold what was - can only be held up
In a box made of timber - lined with
Satin that you'll never enjoy... aching to(o),
Hurting bones that will finally get to sleep in this
Silky wooden sleeping bag sealed tight
For a final good nights rest for eternity.
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