Eulogy
The dashboard clock reads 17:85
Now 18:99
Struggling to catch up, but bogged down by the stale coffee
that coats its inner workings.
That mishandled turn and unrelenting centrifugal force
that drenched it with caffeine
transformed it from a time piece to a date book.
In hopes of rushing to the past it promises I speed
88 miles an hour
Doc Brown said.
But instead of spiraling backwards
I just rush into the future.
None of my past experiences prepared me for this consequence.
Why do I paint my hair red? I know.
Now.
It's so that some part of me will bleed
externally, a signal to the world
of the unstoppable hemorrhage that courses from my heart
infecting every part of me
until my joints slosh with every movement
heavy and rain-soaked with the life liquid
I can't seem to control
The prophets insist.
You exist here. It is not linear.
No. I exist here.
like all who have suffered the unrepairable
stuck in time at the moment
of my mortal wound
that moment which pricked my heart and out rushed life
unable to stop the draining of who we were
who I was
stuck in that moment
I live there, desperately clutching
trying to hold on to some part of me
as I feel my life rushing out of me
When the mortal wound is dealt
we stay
forever
just one second too late
wishing to edge just a little further in the past
and prevent the inevitable
But instead
I simply hang on to the moment of my death
trying to remember what it was like to be alive
I live here. but it is not was it was
I breathe here. but it is not oxygen I need.
I am not.
Linear.
Now 18:99
Struggling to catch up, but bogged down by the stale coffee
that coats its inner workings.
That mishandled turn and unrelenting centrifugal force
that drenched it with caffeine
transformed it from a time piece to a date book.
In hopes of rushing to the past it promises I speed
88 miles an hour
Doc Brown said.
But instead of spiraling backwards
I just rush into the future.
None of my past experiences prepared me for this consequence.
Why do I paint my hair red? I know.
Now.
It's so that some part of me will bleed
externally, a signal to the world
of the unstoppable hemorrhage that courses from my heart
infecting every part of me
until my joints slosh with every movement
heavy and rain-soaked with the life liquid
I can't seem to control
The prophets insist.
You exist here. It is not linear.
No. I exist here.
like all who have suffered the unrepairable
stuck in time at the moment
of my mortal wound
that moment which pricked my heart and out rushed life
unable to stop the draining of who we were
who I was
stuck in that moment
I live there, desperately clutching
trying to hold on to some part of me
as I feel my life rushing out of me
When the mortal wound is dealt
we stay
forever
just one second too late
wishing to edge just a little further in the past
and prevent the inevitable
But instead
I simply hang on to the moment of my death
trying to remember what it was like to be alive
I live here. but it is not was it was
I breathe here. but it is not oxygen I need.
I am not.
Linear.