Chronophobia.

Manic from the touch of anxiety.

Relinquishing a single, empty breath.

Lips dripping with the taste of the fall.

My fingers ache as my grip tightens, their joints groaning with restlessness. I only have so long to hold on. 

Cursed as a fleeting thought.

A pebble in the archway of infinity.

I grow haggard from the winds of complacency. My skin cracks I stand near the spiteful cold of the present.

Every day feels like the end of my life.

Let's stay a little longer.