Time Is Not Mine

I feel the drizzling trickle down my spine,

The shiver of what I deemed lost depravity. 

It begs my flesh to be kneaded fine,

The scattering screams to be sheathed back down from gravity.

To remember is the nightmarish visit,

It swarms as a mesmerizing mist hazing you under.

Flooding the poison with every color, touch, and name.

It betrays with its bitterness leaving you as a roaring thunder.

I swallow myself inside, curled and crawled into a safe space of mine.

The further the depth the more my heart is clenched,

For I lick old lashings this time.

My weakness shovels and pleads, craving every drip,

It does just to grip and sip, what I fear to never be given.

Never full I remain, starvation is my gain, in this game of twisted fairness.

It bends and binds, like branches from a vine, constricting the mind that hides inside.

So the darkness seeps within, dazzling me with sin, the desire now dips into the flesh of mine.

It runs me in circles at best, indulging me through tests, gathered from pants and desperate breaths.

Confusion buzzes before me,

Swarming in my vast unknown sea,

But yet I still feel so empty.

Time is what remains my plague and it aches me to wait, for every life's damning lane.

For what tethers me here, is slithering fear, wisping along what built me sane.

The ribbon around my eyes begins to untie, stretching beyond what allows me to see.

So I ground myself in the vines, I spill the last drop of my insides, and carry myself to become what I believe.