Time Will Tell

Some days I feel like it’s only right

To work when I want,

Play when I want,

Because behind me ticks a clock

Who’s watching from behind his hands.

His name’s Paranoia,

A kind of slick angel who promises

To make me more aware,

More careful, and more prone

To checking my pulse.

But ever since we shook palms,

I’ve forgotten what it felt like to laugh.

Instead, I saunter,

Like a sloth,

A kind of wander where I only

Follow sidewalks and skirt hills.

Nowadays I would rather

Save all my energy and memory

For the days I want to relish.

 

Tonight I found some sweets

I tucked in a cracked jar long ago.

I have no clue what flavor they are,

But part of me hopes for cinnamon.

Some kind of bite in my throat

To see if I’m awake.

Maybe I’ll try for a mint,

A little clarity in my nose to find

The spice they say is in life.

Perhaps, if I’m lucky,

It’ll be bubblegum. A reminder

Of breaths wasted in a fantastic

Delirium where I wouldn’t know

It was night until I realized there was no sun.

 

Just five more minutes,

Three hundred seconds

Before I reach in the jar.

Enough time to pain, shudder, consider,

And remind myself that I could regret

Reaching back. Perhaps there are days

Better left fed to a clock,

And perhaps there are times

When being a little paranoid

But alive

Is better than a ravenous hunger just

Trying to swallow a little more sun.

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