Tw: death, aging, very very old project and bad writing /hj I can see the stars - 1 It must be so hard, to be old. Your mind and body giving up on you, dying, After staying with you whole way, And through everything you’ve put it through, and all at once, no longer— And suddenly, Everything is pain. And your body is a row of dominoes, Trouble after problem, Each falling, One after the other. And all you want is a rest. A break. Perhaps you even dare to hope for a stop. But, perhaps it is trying to tell you, that it was never yours in the first place, but simply what the earth has loaned to you, now asking to be returned. (advice is welcome, wanted, and will be received with the upmost appreciation--perhaps even with mangoes!) /bribery Not me in my poetic era--(dww it'll only last a week or so, you guys won't suffer through /much/--) Not me pretending to make a group thumbnail for poems for aesthetics--(yeah it's laziness, what did you think?(/mj))
