The panic is inching up my throat and through my limbs
Slowly spreading cold and leaden
Why is the clock moving so fast?
Like its trying to outrun memories
I'm almost frozen by my resistence to blink for fear I might miss everything
Time has never felt so against me than when I'm truly happy

As the time drags on you can absorb all that surrounds you in a time much different than all others.
You look at the clock and it may choose to go forwards or even backwards, strange.
It is absolute madness I know; but it is also something to make you think. If time is straight forward then why can we feel it bend so easily?
The rules are twisted and manipulated, something as concrete as time is then changed.
It drags on though, like that last drop of syrup from the glass bottle. So sweet and decadent you must indulge in it before it is gone; time that is.

You watch the plastic frame meld into itself,
The second hand turning inward
Smoothly running down the walls like fingertips trying to find their hands,
Tapping the pencil against the desk,
Tapping soles onto tiled floors,
Toes rhyming in spite of themselves, waiting.

We wait and watch
A digital wall or wrist-watch
The ticks and tocks
Of the never ending clocks
Continuing night to dawn
It goes on and on
Never does it consider our mood
It is a date or something we elude
A specific dot to take our stance
We sit, we wait, we do the time dance
It goes on and on
One day it’ll be all gone

Shadows dance upon the walls
The clocks incessant tick
Why am I awake right now?
Because insomnia’s a ****

I once knew a man
with a natural gift for death.
He would sing in a choir of reapers
and dance with the demons at night.
Then when the day was over
he'd sleep in the house of angels.

How he, oh great wielder of life,
knew how to change the time on a clock.
He'd turn the minute, then the hour
but never let a second pass

He was not of death
but he was not of life
or at least no life I knew.
He came to me one night and said,
in nothing more than a whisper,
the secrets we all long to uncover.
I cannot speak them,
I cannot say.
My mouth is sealed from now
till the last of my days.
My mind is closed, and my eyes are open.
I know of death, and death knows of me.
I call him friend
I call him brother

He wanted to take me once,
into a life after life
and I stood my ground
with my head held high
and denied him.
He unsheathed his sword and stared me down
the tip sparkled in the sun.
"Fight me then, and we shall see
who will walk with the souls
and who will walk with the living."
Again, I said no.
I would not fight this man.

"Strike me!" He screamed, veins popping from his neck.
He was pale and thin, almost fragile.
these things I had never noted before.
"I will not." I spoke, calmly.
"Then I shall fight myself!" He sang, and drew his sword to his neck.
The man cut off his own head.
I let out a breath I was holding,
and looked down gravely at the man.
"You walked the Earth like a God,
but you were more mortal than I."
and I spit upon the dirt of arrogance without a second thought.