My own hand betrays me.
I stiffen into dryness.
The color of my skin is beautiful,
But I grow tired.
Any moment I shall stop trying,
But for now I pump on.
O memory, you are so cruel to me.
You are mine and yet remain your own.
Your torment is sweet,
Your embrace, chilling.
I must certainly be near the end of my life now,
Though I have many years to live.