The Tick
Every tick a theft, stealing your very right to exist, your very right of breath.
Time is all that is left, a measurement, a counting, a ticking to death…
The light, it irritates, it violates, and it penetrates my space and makes mockery of my being. It rapes my mind; it tears apart the very existence of I. It burns my skin, and everything therein, boiling the reminiscence of my sin.
Light is death to dreams, and death to the understood, for die does my dreams of what should, of what would, if what only could….
For as I transcend I see,
Time, is no mans friend.
But time beats a heart in me,
a rhythm, a play,
The End…
About Silly Cats
Started in 2008 the blog has since then been discontinued... These are a selected few archived blog posts starting with the last post first.
