Why me?
Does my skin fold
Did my years old
My bonitis hold.

Of the sort, i do
When the years pass
A rabbit becomes its own turtle
And the turtle wanes going to its roots
Thus water sheds inside
From brain to eye to toe

Ahh swet aging…
Id like to grow to the flow
Than be bitter for the days ahead
At least its not a death to know
Only fluids to be bled

One day at a time
As my arthritis comes with a price.

An aging hipster… Yes.
Than become a bittermelon peace of mind.


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