Slowly, inch by inch its slipping away, ceaselessly, every day, every minute but come to think of it, time doesn't even exist, just a yardstick to register continuation, a vantage point to memory, a bedrock to hopes and dreams, even nightmares, yet I feel old and tired, feel amazed at having lived, and having to live more, forever stuck in this endlessly extending now, incessantly creating past and future, somebody call it off, stop the train, pull the chain, end this thought before it is reborn again, it has been hard enough going on and on, breathing in and out, suspended, sustaining, in a place hanging from nothing, in nothing, moving towards an inevitable nothing. Oh sleep, will you never come?
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