my hands, curled claws
my steps uneven, ragged.
old before my time.
I twist the door lock
move into the darkened room
rest becomes my life.
Sounds assail my head
light assaults my flimsy eyes
I’m made of paper.
Breathing uneven
energy completely gone
I collapse, undead.
Vigor is beauty
and vitality is youth.
I’m old, I’m ugly.
My clawed fingers
curl around my aching arms.
old before my time.
____________________
M. Morehead
You say it eloquently for all of us chronic pain sufferers. Bless you! Betsy