Time is a human construct.
It will spill numbers on the floor,
Whilst it slips its fragile hands around your throat.
Choking you out,
Until breathing becomes more of a chore than reality.
Until it feels like you’re drowning from the carbon dioxide swimming in your veins.

The clock is the home that stutters away when you get to close.
It’s the boy who tells you he loves you,
And then never calls.
It’s the sound of your ribs snapping in half,
Simultaneously filling your lungs with ambrosia.
So that when you take your final breath,
Time will be there to remind you that no matter what,
You were never ******* enough nor ever really there.

Time is the intruder that breaks in
Steals your youth, your drive, your ******* life.
Erasing you slowly,
As I’ve done to every minute since I saw the universe in your eyes.

But, god, what would we do without time,
How would we subsist without measuring cosmos in our hands?
How am I supposed to live without the warmth of your body next to mine?