The Clock Doesn’t Stop

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I refuse to believe that time exists.
The same way I refuse to believe that life is finite,
or singular. Not because I’m scared of my own morality—
I do not fear death. But because
I have died a thousand times and I’m still standing.
I’ve been to the other side where life no longer means
to be alive, and while I was there, I just kept living.
I don’t think there is an end to life, just like there
wasn’t a beginning. We are all just recycled stardust.
All cosmic energy and galactic imagination.
I refuse to believe time exists because
it never moves quite right.
Sometimes it moves too fast,
sometimes it doesn’t move at all.
It’s just a continuous ticking,
telling you what you can and cannot have.
Even in death, there’s that familiar
tick, tock, tick, tock,
And yet, it doesn’t mean anything.
In both life and death it’s
just a continuous countdown to our combustion.
Just galaxies colliding.
Just stars exploding.
Just a sound,
forcing us to live and,
promising to follow us when we die.

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