Birthday

It was a quiet moment,
The earth stood still in discomfort,
Awkward silence, then
Three lunatics rattled home
In a beaten up taxi cab.

I looked at myself in the mirror
Still young and effervescent,
Counting the years until my skin
Grows taut, and cracks
With the pressure of living.
For shoulders to sink,
Defeated with unfulfilled dreams,
Aching for youth to return
It's flickering glance back to me,
To be cured.
But instead I would succumb
To these pirouettes of madness,
Sleep, and rise.