31. Crooked Eyes

...And I hear the footsteps
Drawing faint.
Reminiscence so quaint
Walking down my
Road of life.
I realise it could do with
A lick of paint.
It's the beginning of the end.
No longer can we pretend.
We can go on
My illusions are seldom seen.
Through crooked eyes,
But my own.
So come on and sit with me
In my home.
Whiling away the final hours.
My last few moments;
Are of me typing this on my phone.