Death-Race

Being young's not been for me

And I will age (inevitably)

As callouses form and fix to my unveiling

Historical truths made of winning and failing

I will gray, wish willing, I will

Sun-stained like a momento on the windowsill

I will die, if it all goes to plan

Ending the play of my lifespan

But as it stands as of today

I'm rosy lips and cheeks away

And perhaps owe myself some grace

For fate will always win the race.