Death Disputed

My goal is not the golden years, So cut me down when in my prime. To tarry on expired gears, Would seem to me a waste of time. With loved ones long before me gone, What need have I to carry on? I'll not be part to sad goodbyes, With deafened ears and clouded eyes. The haze of past, both good and bad, Doth haunt the young, as well as old. I never thought I'd feel this sad, Nor fathomed fate to be so cold. Here and now I'll have to cease, And rest my heavy hand in peace, Lest this page be drenched in tears, With veins of ink as blurred as years.