Sometimes

Sometimes I look  in the mirror and I see a set of old, tired eyes staring back at me,
Trying to remember where all the years went,
Wondering when the fun left, wondering what happened to me.

Sometimes I walk down the street and I hear the creak of old bones,
Trying to remember where the paths once went,
Feeling the pain in over-used joints, feeling like an old lady joke, live on the streets.

Sometimes I wait to go to bed till after midnight, not to put off going to sleep,
Trying to put off having to wake.
Ignoring the empty space at my side, ignoring the silence in the morning noise.

And sometimes I just write really, really bad prose.