Anguish grows bristled like stubble of beard
Smoothness of youthness succumbs to the nubs
To age without purpose is to be feared
The mirror reflects a life full of stubs
To circle, to circle, to circle…hell!
The clock half past life, if only I’d known
Years burned, lesson learned, “waste” has its own smell
Gray chin whiskers the lone crop that I’ve sown
Yesterdays hopes now grow white on my face
Dejection, frustration…sole company
A brain wrapped in barbed wire…pitiless place
The razor unable to set me free
Each day that I shave, the guy they call Dave
One more nick closer to meaningless grave
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