THE ART OF FALLING APART
There's quite an art to falling apart
as the years go by.
And life doesn't begin at 40.
My hair's getting thinner,
my body is not;
The few teeth I have
are beginning to rot.
I smell of Vick's-Vapo-Rub,
not Chanel # 5;
My new pacemaker's all
that keeps me alive.
When asked of my past,
every detail I'll know,
But what was I doing 10 minutes ago?
Well, you get the idea,
what more can I say?
I'm off to read the obituary,
like I do every day.
If my name's not there,
I'll once again start -
Perfecting the fine art
of falling apart.
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