given
up as
the winter
branches
have just
turned
and autumn
has gone
only a few
leaves
are hanging
on by worn out
stems
from my bath
I watch my skin
age
in time to
the leaves
I look at my
face
and my fine
lines are
hidden
under
the cleverness
of a doctors
wand
I wonder without
hair dye how
old I would
really look
but am not ready to
give up just
yet
I fight like
the leaves
in November
against
the tightrope
of time
I will not
plunge to my
death just
yet
and hang
on brushing my
teeth and
painting my lips
with red hot
paint.
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