Slowly approaching,
Each second ticks,
S l o w l y
Each minute passes in its own time,
Decided by the inverse of my desires,
With unwanted precision,
The days extend,
Stretched by time itself,
Or my perception thereof,
Beyond a predetermined,
Tensile strength of concepts,
Ripping through all,
Our shattered principles,
In slow motion,
But instantly,
Crushed,
And,
Lost.
.
.
.
Time
Takes
Too
Long
.
.
.
.
­Time
Waits
Too
Long
.
.
.
.
.
Only
One
Time
Matters
.
.
.
.
.
.
*­Now