Thursday, September 28, 2006

Tymophobia

Time.
Time time time.
I have repeated those awful words
a thousand times,
in my attempt to kill them.

It was an attempt to avoid
from being trampled alive by their gigantic
calloused feet.

It was an attempt to avoid
being turned to roadkill,
runned down by their convertible Mercedes.

Now how did they manage to take over me?

For they were once a luxury,
but now they crawl disgustingly,
almost like maggots of antiquity,
that desire nothing more
than to gnaw on my skin,
an inch for every drop of sand before finally,
nibbling and digesting my poor intestines.

Those fat moist hellish creatures,
that crawl deliriously,
furiously,
almost psychotically salty on the edge of my rotten tongue,
and as they move over my aging naked body,
I scream and skip into insanity.