If Time Were Personified


Imagine if Time were personified
I picture her as woman; me her ever loyal slave
A vision in black, her face
concealed
Her torment of me is strife with misery, 
grasping her hands around my neck
forcing me back,
Back to one year ago, where I was standing
outside Birches Rise
talking to you on the phone.


She chokes me further, adamant of squeezing every ounce of
life out of my lungs,
my lips spluttering for air
but she gives me a rule;
I can only inhale the oxygen of the past
That is your condition’.
Breathe the past, feel it run through your bruised-blue blood
and let it form inside your chest
Embrace the past and you will learn from it my child’.


And so I inhale,
I inhale the words that masqueraded as bullets
slicing through my heart,
bleeding along the concrete steps.
I inhale the cigarette smoke that
always lingered on your tongue
mixed with a glass of Malbec,
I inhale the smell of hotel room service
grease-coated chips and leather-tough beef
from the day you chipped your tooth
and you wanted to hide away from the world,


I inhale the brisk cool air of New Years Eve,
as I waited alone for you to
wipe the stardust from your nose in the toilet cubicle,
I inhale the hesitant stammer
I inhale the honey-coated lies
But most importantly
I inhale the crystal-clear truth
That you said you did not love me 
anymore.



 But deep down I had already known
for what felt like 100 years,
so I fought against it
I vowed it not to be true,
assimilating the lie, the make-believe 
into reality.

Her hands make a swift release
And so I rise
And so I breathe
No longer suffocating on
the burdens of the past
No longer walking in an
endless starless night.

Imagine if Time were personified.

K.P.S

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