I'll sleep when I'm dead.

My age creeps up on me at times. Slithering cold. Silent and viper like. Reminding me how untouchable time really is. Like a blank slate it has drawn my life. My knowledge of who I am. It has peppered experience with wrinkles on my forehead, skin that begins to fall slowly. Too tired to resist lustful gravity. Like Dorian Gray before me I look in the mirror at this husk body. Wishing it or willing it to stop. But at what price. With my dignity in hand and my heart painfully beating I strap myself in. For the death ride will end. I just don't know when I'll get off.