Time
It's hard to hear when the ticking of the clocks are crooked and deafening. I can hardly concentrate to what people have to say when the clock screams for attention. Tick & Tick & Tick. The suffocation stranggles my throat like deadly threats & I all I can is, "it's over? already?" as if I were shocked at what time it was.
Clocks aren't suppose to be personified. Inanimate object don't breathe like I breathe or think like I think. It's uncanny that time can say in silence so much more than what people can in an hour.
So shut up.
I look around and I feel time pass by me like worms. I feel time inch over my skin aging it in bitter mockery. I am too young to feel so old. I haven't done enough puerile things to grow up just yet. I haven't colored all day on a sidewalk or gone back to the sandboxes to build sandcastles. I want to be a kid again so much I can hardly breathe. & not all the red and blue crayons in the world could make amends for my pain.
I hated time for letting me remember what it promised me to forget. I hated that fact that people said time healed all wounds but it never came to my aid. I hated everything that had to do with growing up because it just never seemed fair. That I was the one who was always a step behind in the shadow of a sundial.
Whatever time is. Tick Tick. Or tick. Doesn't matter. I lost my thought already because time has passed by and I was working on other things. I'm not sure if I was suppose to defend clocks or reprimend them. I simply forgot. Time does that to you. So time doesn't heal all wounds. You forget but memory loss does not take away heartache.