I smell like old people,
and broken chords
There is no shame in age,
but dissonance โฆ
Hobbling, out for a stroll
the leaves shudder in disagreement
I smell like old people
in the autumn as the sun sets
we are left unwashed
โ out of tune
I smell like old people and death,
distorted truths intermingled
I see no shame in age, belt my tunes
in prepubescent harmonies
The ghosts of days to come
I see in the mirrors
We are merely in waiting
for the others to move along.
