Cant stop holding onto youth while growing prematurely old,
Feels like I’m 93 today although they say I’m looking fine,
Wanna know why I’m not working yet, it happens all tha time
But I’m all jumbled up inside, haven't got tha words,
Haven't got tha energy to make myself heard,
Skin like peach hiding withered fruit, tha vegetable disease with an invisible root,
Dribbling and choking, unable to swallow, a rollercoaster ride from winning to wallow,
A white knuckle nasty silently screaming, want to keep living, want to keep dreaming.
But I cant run away from tha slow lingering death, my legs wont allow it and nor will my breath, it's my dying day 93 years old, that's how it feels when M.E takes a hold.