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Hours
HOURS:
I don’t have the time; I push my fingers against the glass trying to hold myself up. I won't stop slipping down. Could I ever get better, While chunks of me fall and denigrate into sand.
I'm losing myself to time.
I can't let anyone see me like this, fragile to the touch. Falling apart if you push me too hard.
I am soft and delicate like the waves on the beach, without the fury of the ocean.
I know everyone knows, talk to me like I'm confused? My presence making unease as if I was already dead.
I don’t understand what I should feel, I should accept my fate.
Ironic that someone would push people away at their lowest.
I'd hope they would forget, forget about what I'm doing to myself.
I am at the mercy of the ocean wherever it may pull and push me. I lie there on the cold sand breathing slowly
I relax. It doesn't scare me, not like it scares the others. I don’t understand why I need to be here.
I need to be alone, in my own isolation, only when I can finish the plan set in stone by my universe.
It's meaningless to fight it, a force too strong.
I glide my fingers up my stomach, my skin almost breaking at the force. I bring it up to my chest.
I softly push. pushing becomes grabbing, clawing the sand until it breaks. I reach deeper and deeper in me
I strain my arm reaching for my heart.
I won't let out a cry even, this is the end. My beating heart melts into my hand. I hold it up like an award.
My thoughts are tranquil until I can't see any thought itself.
I can't regret what I can't remember, memories of sand blow away softly.
I am at peace with myself.
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What inspired me to write this was illness and how dying or sick people get treated. I also wanted themes of time running out portrayed as being made of sand and falling, like a human hourglass.