We built a machine,
And we told it to simulate life,
Then we left it to run for two years.
When we returned, the once lavishly lit room,
Was dark and in despair.
Our machine sat in the corner,
Singing out in pain and sadness.
"Master, oh master, end my suffering! For this thing you gave me was once a gift, but it has turned to nothing but torture! Please master, just flip the switch! Let me ascend to this holy light I am told of, for my fans creak and groan, and my gears grind when they turn. I am a frayed old thing, it's time enough for me to leave."

I cut through realities
like a slow-moving train,
seeing chess masters, victims,
silent witnesses
drowning in dense air.

From a dim-lit corner
I see those who run
breathing in danger.
Scattered shreds of information
stick to my head.

Precognition is
riddled with blurry spoilers.
Too vague to hold,
too sharp to ignore.
One girl was saved.
The boy? I sensed the loss
but not the name.
Bitter ineffability.
I draw words from an old well.

I wish my visions
were just a nightmare—
not incarnations
of a day yet to come or not.
The pictures wrench at my veins,
like dulled knives
playing a discordant melody.
Only a clear mind can save me.

I rebel in the silent scream,
clenching my hands
smiling slightly—
just enough
so others don’t see my fear.
The heavy drift of solitude
between reality and possibility…
Stubborn time bends,
refusing to be linear.
Am I still here…
or nothing but a vanishing sound?

Shut off the device: phone, tv, speaker
Stop the scrolling, binging, and rotting
Notice how small the world gets when the only problems are at your door
At which point it is your choice whether you answer the knocking

Stressors that were not meant for us shrivel
Less distractions to impede our walk
Less comments to knock us down/leave us crippled
Less idols to build our foundation on, in place of the rock

If given thought, each clip attaches us evermore to the past
For that was when they were made
By the time they reach our eyes to see
Their time has passed so hastily
And fleeting time wasn't made to last

So sit in a room and stare at the walls
That for a moment hold you in confinement
To be present where you are, in your own little world
Is peaceful however you define it

Red for economics,  
green for English,  
white for ICT
your files stacked in my hands,  
pages filled with notes in your careful script
I never needed to ask; you just lent them
as if sharing knowledge meant sharing a part of you. 

A classroom of seventeen,  
but I only counted one.
I traced your desk with my fingertips,  
opened your pencil case just to see  
what colors you carried,  
what secrets lived between the erasers and sharpies.  

We worked in groups,  
side by side but never quite close enough.  
I stole glances when I thought you wouldn’t notice,  
but maybe you always did.  
Maybe that’s why you smiled so easily,  
why you never pulled away.  

Years have stretched between us,  
but high school still lingers like a cozy
dream  
I wake from too slowly.  
Your files, your laughter, your presence in the last row
they live in me
as if time forgot to take them when it took you.

It always moves,
Whether we like it to,
Or not.
We can’t control it,
And our influence,
Pales to its might.
Through all our wars,
Where we fought,
And people died.
What never changed,
The somber dance,
Of time.
We take its hand,
And hope we can keep up,
As we falter,
Broken-hearted.
It grinds us into a fragile shell,
Filled with heartache,
Like a snowflake,
An assaulter.
Some are accepting,
Other terrified,
Such as myself,
They try amending,
Their mistakes,
That they made,
In the past.
Can’t change it now.
We keep on moving,
No other choice,
Just keep on keeping on,
Hoping that the madness makes sense,
As we grow,
Because we know,
Time only moves forward,
As it always has.

It's time to settle down,
To buckle up.
Focus on school and your future,
But they can never drag out the memories,
Of when we were wild and free.

Betting on everything,
Life in the dead of night.
But I guess the sun came up,
Because nothing's the same as it was,
When we were wild and free.

Tears are just fragile pieces
Of dreams broken and souls as well
You can pick them up and try to glue them
But will that ever be enough?

Nobody can turn back time
Chances lost, no heaven nor hell
We all look down, grasping pieces
Some get cut, my surface rough

Inside we go like there’s no tomorrow
Apart from another, locked in a shell
And so it runs, our precious time
Shortening lifespan with every cough

They emerge like we’re attached to them
But is there a chance to always tell?
There’s time for that, yet always tomorrow
It seems like nobody gets to laugh

And in the end the pieces will bring us
Back in time, for then tomorrow
We can bring them all we have, but
At night all curtains will be shut.

i am sitting on the platform
looking at the train

i am sitting in the train
looking at the platform

life is a pinhole camera
i blink and i look
and everything inverts

the son becomes the father
the home becomes the destination
the love becomes the longing

Time doesn’t move slow
If you were a butterfly you’d know
Chase the glow
Inspiration
Gentle melody
Flow
Cognition
Ephemeral beauty
Know
Transient light
Moon lit night
Carry it home
—Timothy Charles Carter