Time goes by like the longest nightmare;
never-ending and full of wicked surprises.

Time goes by like the shortest dream; rapid and without impurities, factually killing every bit of me.

Dreaming is not always my biggest despair,
but most times the reason to believe that I'll be able to drown my soul in the hope that I urgently need.

The second hand gives my heart a rhythm to follow when it's lacking desire to continue.

The minute hand moves minutely as the rhythm beats,
slowly indicating the unwanted end of my dream.

The hour hand is the shortest, but the longest too. This is my never ending nightmare that takes forever to end,
leaving me and my soul drenched in a soul-drowning sorrow with the desperate need of external deliverance.

Time may be a virtue, but it kills too.