Sometimes breathing's not enough.

Sometimes breathing's not enough.

In the eyes of a child
I am an old mean man
with hawk eyes
and quiet spite.
I groan around
like the world is ending
and bask in the darkness
soaking in the terror
like a sponge.

But that is not how I am.

I do not favor darkness,
I am not old, nor spiteful nor pessimistic.

The child is not always right.

I breath quicker
to put the life back in me
decrease my age
take it all back
the lies the words the stares
Breathing quicker and quicker I am slipping away
falling in the sand
the room is spinning
i'm seeing colors.
Becoming allerigc to life, as the child says.
Darkness is falling..
I see the end.

Then again...
my eyes are old.
They cannot see what's in front of me.

Am I that mean old man, who loves the spite?

Maybe.