Picasso

Days. They have their way with you.
Pain. It knows you well.
You'd rather kneel than stand
You'd rather run than fight.
You'll fade out slow
and I'll burn out bright.
Raised. To turn your other cheek.
Pray. No one cares at all.
Convinced yourself just to give up and let go.
Try but the mirror just stares you down.
You lived your life and you sold yourself to
Rusting in the rolling wind.
And you died your death am I next in line to
To be left behind?
I can't be far behind.