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It’s all so subtle, still so subtle, the way that storm clouds gather around me. At first sight, the sun still mutters, so softly mutters through the screen doors. Now the hour of growth and death is upon my spoiled and rotting body beset by electric shocks rattling through my nerves Muscles that sit as weak as falling rain And my joints they’re snagged by snares and snap back like rubber bands and rolling tide Today I don’t feel like doing much except sit inside maybe waste my time unsure of where I’m going or if the direction even matters I feel the beginning tingling of weight on my chest the prelude to smothering anxiety to cut through the boredom but there’s work to be done so much work to be done I can’t move I can’t even sit up in my bed anymore Every day I have visions of myself dying the next a collapsing old man An impatient future that’s beckoning me towards wheelchairs and hospital beds Twenty-one and always aching I still don’t know what’s wrong with me Weakening, staggering, trembling I can’t expect you to understand From Letras Mania