It's dark..weary, tired, ready..for something new? the sands of time are big boulders threatening to break apart the dainty hourglass, and all I can do is blow gently in hopes that it'll sand away the boulders into sizable chunks of falling rocks and maintain the equilibrium of my oblivious glass.
The reigns of time fly around like lovers tresses and just as you want to reach out and grab them, they disintegrate and flow again, right in front of you, teasing you, taunting you, and you can only reach them, never touch them..they've fused into the consciousness of your beliefs, merged in the matrix of your existence—surviving because you let them, subsisting on the conviction that you let it slip through your fingers.
Ignore it for a while, and those reigns will disappear, and suddenly a soulless protozoa flowing in the sands of time without a woe or worry, buried under boulders or swallowed by sand, would it matter to someone who's ceased to care?
Glass or no glass, breathing as long as it can, where it can and atrophied into a shell of nothing when its time to end.
The reigns of time fly around like lovers tresses and just as you want to reach out and grab them, they disintegrate and flow again, right in front of you, teasing you, taunting you, and you can only reach them, never touch them..they've fused into the consciousness of your beliefs, merged in the matrix of your existence—surviving because you let them, subsisting on the conviction that you let it slip through your fingers.
Ignore it for a while, and those reigns will disappear, and suddenly a soulless protozoa flowing in the sands of time without a woe or worry, buried under boulders or swallowed by sand, would it matter to someone who's ceased to care?
Glass or no glass, breathing as long as it can, where it can and atrophied into a shell of nothing when its time to end.
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