46 years old

monologues before a mirror

I am an old man.
Not so old that I can’t walk,
Or I cough blood,
Or I have to touch things to figure what they are,
Or can’t get my dick up,
When I feel like it.
I am just a little on the other side of the string.
String that burns slowly from one side,
Till it reaches the end,
Unless one hangs himself,
Or jumps from the 13th floor,
Or lies on a railroad.
Cut the string right away I mean.
Today I became 46 years old.
It depresses me a bit.
Like all the past birthdays,
Every year on this day I feel a little powerless,
As wrinkles which have infested my face,
Grow like a spider’s web.
I knew long before today,
This day would come.
It doesn’t matter though whether you know or not.
It always is terrible
To see your eyes droop a little
And the crow’s feet grow on the corners,
To see the reflexes dull,
To watch the memory fade,
To let time break the last promise of youth.
I see my face and,
I see the shadows of past sleeping over each other,
Whispering in their murmurs -
Long complaints, apologies, fuck ups -
A whole messy record;
Above all the loneliness of the decades,
which sits like a lump in my throat.
So what do I celebrate
Being a 46 years old ?