A life comprised of seconds on the face of a clock...

I feel time now.  I feel it when it's restless, frantic, soulful, and even when it slows down.  In some ways I think it slows hoping I'll catch up.  I don't think we speak the same language.  The numbers are carved away by wasted effort and endeavors destined to end up in a meaningless heap of shattered dreams, broken promises, and those experiences which bind them in quiet unity.

The days remain long, yet are over before I can catch my breath.  I no longer care why this is, or why it never seems to change.  My effort to reinsert myself into life again--actual life--fall short.  I don't care about the answers or explanations anymore.  Why on earth would I care when answers seem to only end up echoes that pass through the invisible bars of this prison-like existence?  Doesn't mean anything.  Not really.

I don't like feeling time.  I just don't.