I wish I were you.
at the end of life,
staring into the abyss.
I wish we could trade places and you could once again feel the rush of youth whilst carrying my weight.
bend those knees that won’t break.
and I don’t write this to be rude
to be true
I am a shrew
with a tendency to be crude.
this is not a note
I do not yet lay upon my deathbed
but maybe just a wish
or a dream
to cure all that ails me
maybe, I’m just a fool who hasn’t quite learned how to breathe the fire of life
it overwhelms me and gets the best of me
but I stare now into her beautiful brown eyes
her many wrinkles etched into her leather skin
I watch curiously as she looks away
her smile displaced
a glimpse of her toils, washing over her
but the sun shines, immaculately
turning her skin to flowers
blooming so beautifully
a bouquet in my hands