This must be a slow death that I’m tourin’ on,
No direction shown
Nor a wandering bark to be followed.

In a space that’s where I am, heading to death.
Caged with regrets of the past
That dominance nothing but my breath,

“I should be rich”
The heart knows what I’m supposed to be
But life never gave that second opportunity
To even off what was missed before.

Age lights up its dream light from afar,
Mapped chicks with dry skin
That throw light upon the grave.

Sickness, pain, and sorrow sneaking by,
Obvious depression is the way and death
Is the final destination so there’ll
Be a peace to my soul.