Growing Old

like splattered blood
from a gunshot wound
anguish has covered the walls of my insides

somehow my body has sprouted cobwebs
and every other half second
another piece of pain gets caught

I’m afraid to turn out the lights
lately when I turn them on again
I’m 100 years older and
hard to recognize

my sad memories have contaminated the good ones
and underneath those
doubt and faith have collided
and I’m too senile to know now
which one is which

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