I feel old,
As though every time I smile,
My eyes crack a bit more,
And a piece of my face falls off
To shatter on the ground.
Therefore, my laugh is hollow,
Echoing through my skull.
I'm ancient, not mature,
For time has broken me down
As a maggot may chew garbage.
Oh, how I decay!
"Happy birthday," they sing,
"And many more."
But I'll rot before those come.