gerontaphobia:
fear of the elderly
I hate old people.
Perhaps that's a controversial thing to say.
My name is Sierra (with an S) and I hate old people.
I don't like how they look, some gangly and see-through as a skeleton, skin hanging from brittle, jutting bones.
Others riddled with sagging fat in the oddest of places, rings of the stuff oozing from stomachs and arms and throats. And their skin, scaly with age and crinkled with wrinkles from feeling too much in their lives, peppered with moles and liver spots.
Worm pale and popping with purple and blue veins or dark with age and sun.
Tufts of white, dusty hair-whatever they have left, that is-lining misshapen skulls and foreheads, more dandruff than hair. A depressing whisper of what luscious locks used to don their heads and a grim reminder of how fleeting beauty is.
Eyes, sunken in or popping out of their sockets, always watery or veiny or milky white with cataracts.
Lips a wrinkled line, worn from smiling or talking too much.
Teeth rotten or crooked or chipped, or some freakishly white.
But what's worst is the smell.
Like canned soup and stale cologne and something sour and rotten.
They smell of death.
And that terrifies me.
I swear never to grow old. I'll gladly leap into death's icy claws today if it means I'll never lose myself, my mind, my body, to wicked, cruel age.
My name is Sierra (don't forget the S) and I fear old people.
(Author's note: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. I MEAN ABSOLUTELY NO OFFENSE TO ANYONE. Sorry, I just kinda felt like I had to put that in there)
YOU ARE READING
phobia.
PoetryWhat are you afraid of? Hi, I guess this is a series? Anyways, basically just a collection of poetry(?)/short stories that might(I said might!) have some sort of plot eventually.
