You look old.
You look tired.
You look weak
and weary
and worried and winded
and white
– white as a sheet.
You look beat.
You seem bloodied.
You seem bombed into submission
by years and fears and tears
and dear friends gone away.
You seemed frayed.

You’re afraid of what’s to come
you’ve been run around in circles
raved off the track
– you won’t be back this way again
or if so,
there’s no telling when.
You’re forgotten.
You’ve fought yourself sick
and are ready to forfeit.
You’re fit to be put down.

You are….
You seem…
You look…
it ain’t good.