Decaying

You trace the patterns embedded on the wall,
a concrete reminder that your know where as strong,
The rough texture under your fragile hands,
scrape off the truth that your slowing decaying,

We all live to die,
we are all as sharp as glass,
we all at one point believe that we are immortal,
that we control life in the palm of our hands,
But,
we are slowing decaying,
with every breath we take,
we all grow a little weaker,
as the clock ticks our time away,

we all live to die,
We kill ourselves to live,
how long until our lives,
end up decaying,

You trace the patterns embedded on the wall,
a concrete reminder that your know where as strong,
the rough texture under your fragile hands,
scrape of the truth that your slowly decaying.