Mousey Boys
I have grown old,
Yet I am still so young.
I am aged,
Like a fine wine.
My grapes have been crushed,
I have no juice left to give.
I am only a liquid that prepares itself to drown.
I am a dog
That prepares itself to be put down.
I am no longer a puppy
Who wishes to play.
I have no life left to live.
So bring me to the mountains,
Like one of those mousey boys.
And put me out of my misery and shoot me in the head.
Copyright © Abbey Mader | Year Posted 2023
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