A poem which doesnt deserve a title.

All around my gowing tension are,
Old faces turning grey,
As pitiful life just drains away,
With every waning day.

Within their smiles, crevaces,
Now crease the perfect skin,
As outer beauty fades away,
So must the soul within.

There's mirrors all around them, thus,
They cant fail to ignore,
The fading of the sparkle
From their once glittering forms.

And down the slopes of suffering,
They stand upon the shores,
Of empty desolation -
Our society's demure.