It seems to slip away from my fingers.
Slip through them like sand through a sieve.
It's there- but then it's gone.
Time
Running away from me on fast horses hooves.
Time
Prancing like the horse itself, just out of my desirous grasp.
Time
Laughing at my tears and throwing acid onto my cuts.
Time
Hoping that I don't succeed, hoping that I succumb to its grasp.
Time
Thieving- it steals from us every thing we ever want.
Time
Lying- acting like it's on my side even when it isn't.
Time. It's final, it's fleeting, it's infuriating.
The work of a girl-woman whose sole talents are writing and being lazy.
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Helen