graying

What have I accomplished in a half century?
Nothing.

I putz around so that I wouldn’t choke on anxiety.
I smirk when I get nauseous from loneliness.
I blink for tears well up fogging my sight.

I am oscillating between reality and a memoir.

The reflection in a mirror bows the streaks-of-white-showing, unkempt, hoary head.

 

 

For The Daily Post’s daily prompt, Gray.

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6 thoughts on “graying

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