The river runs, and it runs, and it runs.
Right through the building. Washing over every floor. Coating all the walls, and filling every hall.
The river runs.
Black tar, river runs.
It builds on the walls. Closes off the doorways. Makes open and shut impossible for them. For us.
Time is running.
Running river, black tar.
Run from the river. The river is running for you.
It runs for you.
Run, run, run from the river.
Run. Continue reading “Spill”
When you’re a kid, things seem to take forever. Time moves at a perpetually slow rate, always in last place during life’s race. It moves it’s legs slowly, leisurely. Like nothing will ever pick up. Like everything moves through tar, only able to move forward in painfully meticulous strides.
And then you graduate.
And everything speeds up.
Time moves in the exact opposite manner than it had before.
Instead of moving slowly enough for you to process, life moves so fast that you’ve barely grasped what’s happened in the current year when, suddenly, the next year rolls on through.
It’s like watching a top spin, round and round and round. Only, the top doesn’t stop. It never slows down again. You realize how quickly it actually moves, how little of it you have left.
It’s a little disparaging, knowing that your time is running out.
That’s what I think as I look down at the paper. At this last bit of hope.
The top is spinning. Continue reading “It Waits”