thread count (150)

the days are drawing out longer, but time is running shorter. minutes skitter away, melting together in clumps that dissipate. promises are made – they break, flowing together in easy linguistics and shatter under pressure. they stick around just long enough for their value to wear off; then they’re gone.

bitter complaints go heard, unacknowledged: there are blocks lined up crafting a new wall, stealing away life’s calm.

threads of time weave together, are stolen from the universe trying to collect more – miserly, hoarder, the universe thinks, and ignores all these attempts.

(there are so many of them happening now; there’s been plenty of chances to get used to it)

and moments are stitched together, pocketed and collected, clotting together but ultimately discarded, drifting aimlessly – unusable after that first attempt, worthless at the second.

chaos is thrown around, carelessly, chaotically – it begets itself, and remains unconcerned.



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