Time doesn't stop only at 3 am
Time stops at 6 am, at 10 am, even at 2 pm. Time stops whenever it drags you back by it's cruel, over-powering arms and pins you down with chains onto a board of nails.
As it forces you to watch everything else move on, watch everyone else move on. As it props your eyes open, squishing your eyeballs till they bleed. It's when the hot blood gushes down your cheeks, mixed with salty tears you see how behind you are.
As peers and colleagues climb up stages to collect accolades, as you can feel everything you built etching away slowly. As Time points and laughs at your kingdom, calling it a stroke of luck and a box of tricks. You're convinced, because you always believed you were the biggest imposter of them all.
You realise that time has won. It forced out the demons you kept locked tight in the tiniest corner of your mind.
But you're too exhausted to fight back. You close your eyes, feel your muscles go limp, thinking 'maybe some other wunderkind will take my place'. Just like they always secretly whispered to each other when you'd pass them in crowded hallways and podiums.
So you begin to think, 'Maybe the pearls and crowns were never truly mine'.
YOU ARE READING
Unfinished Paintings
PoetryA collection of my prose, poetry and epiphanies over the past couple of years. I've always loved writing and composing, but I'd never assumed anything I wrote was worth being read by anyone but myself. Writing has always been a way for my mind to co...
