old age may yet draw in

my death may not
be as romantic
as a broken heart giving in
after the seasonal passing
of a loved one. It may
not even come as a result
of the vices that sustain me
through dark times. My death
is unlikely to arrive as my
own tired decision in the pain
of degradation and solitude, it
may not even be a car I didn't see:
my death is just a dull inevitability.