Can I close my tab?

Set the scene…

It’s 10PM and I am looking for my watch. Metal gears griding in measurements long enough bury me 6 feet under. Let my mouth fill with soil and I am so thirsty. Parched. Body encaged in a self-made drought. Timewatch ticking. Echoing in my head. Pulling at my hairs, eyebrows, eyelashes, armpits, knees, thighs, legs. The thread never coming to an end. Always unraveling, but where does it start? The small hand on 2, large hand on 12. I feel like I’m running out of time. Does this thing ever die? Will it get to a point that the hands stop moving, tick stop ticking? Left foot, right foot. Side by side. Unable to control how I am moving, what I am saying, what I am doing. Clawing at this coffin. DOES ANYBODY SEE ME!? How much time is enough time? It’s 1AM and I have spent an hour drinking myself alive. ARE YOU HAVING FUN YET? Loud, out of control. I feel like I am swimming. Swimming in concrete. Swimming in vomit. Stomach bleached, paint peeling off the walls of my abandoned building insides. Noone should here. I LIVE HERE. Pick up glass, slam down shards. My hands are bleeding out seconds. Lungs filled with the same spirits that possess me. Haunted, tormented. EXORCISE ME FROM THIS UNCLEAN SPIRIT! Mondays melt into Sundays that melt into weeks that become a fire that burns for years and then I am DOING IT AGAIN AND AGAIN. Clock ticks too fast, fingers twitch in harmony like they are a conductor of this orchestra. Hands shaking, can’t hold the timepiece still long enough to even FUCKING LOOK. How long have I been down here? Rock fucking bottom. 5AM and I am tired, or am I tired? I am so full of poison. I could easily fall into a coma. Ticks echo into last night, tomorrow night, tonight. I used to lay on the ground and listen to my heart ticking away. I would count how many seconds are in a year because a year drinking isn’t that long. Never truly feels like enough time has passed by to throw the clock away. I used to feel like the timepiece was this gift for coming of age. It was only handed down when you are old enough to hunt with the herd. Who would have known that it wasn’t a gift? Siping away into the night, becoming a shadow. Expensive in money and in health. Soon enough, your timepiece doesn’t follow the same time zone as those around you. It starts ticking loud in the morning, and you are so deep in the routine that you have your eyes closed. THROW IT OUT! How can I set an alarm? To signal when it is time to sleep. To stay home. To leave the circle and the spirts behind. I used to feel trapped on a boat out in a sea of broken bottles, all half full waiting for me. Trembling on this boat, just me. No oars to make way to shore. My shaking hands, gripping broken glass bottles, sipping. No sunrise, no sunset NO SUN. Can’t bleed enough seconds to finally come to an end. There is no end. An alarm blares loud and I become shipwrecked. Late for a job that I don’t have in a home I have to leave. Timepiece glued to my chest, beating out of rhythm with my heart. Waiting for this year to be over. To start anew. Ticking away, never to see a sunrise in the bottom of a glass at a crowded bar of ghosts all chanting in unison, “drink.” AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO HEARS THIS?!!

**I didn’t like this at first and wanted to revise it, but I am actually more into it now. I’m going to leave it as it is. Enjoy.

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