All the time I wasted

When I could find no solace in the presence of companionship. When the very earth appeared to dull under the pressure of my sole. When the sky seemed to dim as my gaze wandered towards the heavens and when the air ignited my flesh like the stab of a blade I could find no alternative but to seek comfort in the coarseness of paper. On this very parchment I write with the sprawl of black ink, my fingers throb and my wrist slackens, but my story must be told or I shall be lost in the shadows of dust that encases history. I am as of now, only partially present. With each creak of my pen, I sense the breathe of death approaching ever so closer, I can hear the emptiness that shall pervade; it is a dissonant, hollow chime that agitates and soothes me both.

In life and death I must be remembered
And hence I dedicate this to the cruelty of the world, may your foul heart wither away. I dedicate it to the men on the street that bear no humanity in their eyes. I dedicate it to the throng of dead children, lying faceless on the asphalt, spread out like the scatter of litter and discarded like items of disposal. I dedicate it to the cascade of future generations to come and leave them with one phrase;

Destruction is imminent. It is only about to get worst

And conclusively I dedicate it to the cultivator of old age, the wearer of the mind, the father of system. Time

This is to all the time I've wasted and the time I have no more.