Time is slipping through my fingers, dripping like stained rain drops in the sewage of Life.
Collected fragments of liveliness forever lost and buried under the noise of hope for better tomorrow. An illusion, yet I am a very bad magician, every trick wasted and foreseen by the ironic smile of child yet to be fooled.
Cradled in my numbness I believed and trusted the System. One that I was perfectly designed for. I could mould myself, bend, stretch, or crawl the way it was needed. In return I was fed just the right amount of lies and disbelief so carefully tailored for innocent deceivers.
My umbilical cord is strong, with heavy inertia, like an octopus with long tentacles dragging into my awareness all that I needed to be in soft and warm. Some call it comfort. But the ease became sharp glass protruding my reality, making me bleed in words, and sentences I so desperately wanted to keep.
Mouth to mouth, you gave me the sense of oxygen yet my lungs evaporated the moment I was teared off. I was a lonesome astronaut who abandoned the ship, now floating in the space without direction or meaning.
Time became stories in which I tried to envelope myself. But this cover, a woollen blanket full of holes of moth bites, made me freeze in side.
Disintegration. Annihilation. Such fancy words. But I don’t care for syllables. I don’t care for vows still trapped in my throat. Doesn’t make me stop.
For the tiniest. A milli, micro, nano. Second of possibility it isn’t over. It isn’t late.
The Spring may come. And with it a golden ray of opportunity to melt what is left.