time has been seeping out of this fragile broken glass of life at a much quicker pace that usual these last few months. Days seem as hours, months as if days... and so on and on.
a futility in fighting time.
a futility in remembering and embalming the moments of nows that came before.
futility of trying catch the nows yet to come.
absent and tired.
an evening worth several million eons.
~m
The ones with anchors cast into the hardened rock bed upon the shallow shore of reality and reason those whom wear the eyeless masks made...
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