wordplayground

time never slipped.
it was this sticky oozy mess,
inconsistent and sometimes rough on the skin,
always leaving a slimy residue in its wake.

slippery implies we couldn't grasp time, yet
how we would hold on to those moments
for years to come,
how we would put time on display
of how we'd been broken 
and remade again.

sitting, watching how slowly the time passes by
i move so i can't see the clock
time has stopped
i just have to sit here and wait for time to start moving
i try to force myself to do something,
go somewhere
but i don't want to be seen.
i don't want to talk.
if i sit for too long they'll notice 
then they'll know something's wrong and they'll ask a bunch of questions i can't answer.
i get up and get a diet cherry coke because some feeling that must be hunger is growling in my stomach.
time still isn't moving.
i made myself a beautiful room so i could sit in it while time was stopped.
so i could sit in it knowing there is something wrong with me.
that i'm not ever going to fit.
i always make beautiful rooms.
i stay in them a while, then i pack it all in boxes so i can make a new room.
and they're all so different looking.
i hear footsteps and 
i beg that they don't come to my beautiful room and ask me some ridiculous question.
i don't want to be seen.
i want to disappear like time.