Am I 

Just playing 

At this game 

We call 

Living?

 

Because 

I tell you 

Now 

I haven’t a clue

What is going 

On

My hair

Or what is 

Left 

Of it 

Is turning 

Silver 

As though 

The value of 

My thoughts 

Are finally

Being 

Appreciated 

By my body 

At least 

If

Nothing else 

 

And my vision

Is suffering 

I suppose 

In the same 

Way 

Of all those 

Who have seen 

A mixture of 

Too much 

And things they 

Shouldn’t have seen 

Stirred roughly 

With the bits 

They should 

Have seen 

But missed 

 

And so I sit here 

Not yet 

Stooping 

Though 

I know that is 

Not far away 

And not quite 

Stupid 

Because 

I make

Mistakes

And still have 

Enough about me 

To realize 

I will make 

more 

 

And I wonder 

Why 

I came 

Into 

This room 

And this world

And whether 

I will leave 

Kicking 

And screaming 

Which is pretty much 

How 

I got here 

in the

first place  

All those 

years 

ago