Lines crisscross around this face
The hair begins losing its place
This fret of impermanence
Constantly in a degenerative state
A wasting away
Touches of grey getting in the way,
youthful appearance slowly fading away.
Harder to adjust, joints hurt with every thrust,
cartridges so already worn-so inevitable the coming storm.
Cells recreate only to dissipate this is our fate
Caught in the lust of fleshy skin, breaking down as the aging process is settling in,
Beauty and decay makes its way back to the earth
As Samsara touches me-the cycle repeats itself all over again.
Aging in my
Hair, teeth, my skin, my balls, my chin,
My rectum, hands, hips and my wrinkled dry lips.
Aging in my
Sagging neck, in my eyes, and my thighs, right up to my prick, this is sick.
My belly wanting to swallow youthful flesh the need is a spiritual mess. Back to the place where we came and the process is the same to begin Over and Over all over again.

Photo: Azarel