Roots

I awoke this morning as an old man,

My hair thinned and white,

My bones aching and rattling,

I rose from my bed,

Discombobulated and disjointed,

After studying myself in the mirror,

I hobbled about my apartment,

Clutching the walls to keep my spine from toppling,

Every step searing old age through my nerves,

Like a volt of electricity,

And I found that I still leave the cap off the milk carton,

I found that my clothes still litter the floor,

I found that I still have a hesitancy to open mail,

I found impulsively bought packs of cigarettes,

I found small bags of cocaine,

Shot glasses scattered across the table,

And the real terror,

Was not caused by the aches and pains of my dying body,

But was caused by the fact that these trivial artifacts

Appeared to be frozen in time,

And like my skin had grown loose,

And my frame had grown feeble,

My habits had grown roots,

Permanent and authentic,

And had pulled the life from my body,

As a tree pulls water from the ground,

And so with my strength fleeting,

I sat my old ass down on the couch,

Wincing at every crack,

And I turned on the TV,

I awoke from the nightmare screaming in a cold sweat.