The hours of routine form ferrous lines. They run the same as Taggart railroad lines through my mind. Stacked inches a time, railed down with spikes of practice. Day after day, they grow into a prison. Bars of unbreakable discipline that are only as strong as my willpower.
Sometimes the iron rods turn into a scarlet thief with a scarf of infinity. A ribbon of memories attached to it's cloak. Spun from nostalgia and regrets and inevitability.
Too fast to catch, Time runs quicksilver circles around me. Yet, if I were to ever pay the drifting cloth of Time no heed, it would seize me by the throat and strangle me with dissatisfaction. A punishing noose for the hubris of disrespect.
You only have so much to allocate. Careful distribution is next to impossible for the unmindful. Dead bodies with blue faces lay littered everywhere I go. A reminder of privileges taken without respect.
11:17 p.m. - 2014-12-04
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