tick

They say time will heal all wounds but what if it doesn't stop hurting, ever? Go on, demand, scream, shout beg, grovel for your refund

The myraid of augmented reality you crafted with the message in mind A future where your smile is geniune

Time, the hypocrite Why would anyone believe you? If it had done anything but prolonged everything

Who do you bill the

agony of watching the flames spring back to her eyes, only to realise it is but the mind's deceit

bane of staying alive when it has lost all its essence, none of those roses, smiles and the locket which stores it all

disappointments of muttering to your shadow in darkness hoping another would emerge and upon turning around, she appears

to?

The rusted, stained mirror you lean on

You stand in the moment's blues which dissolves purple and emerges red in your eyes

You fling the chair, your image shatters taking all the dredges and scars along

the last truth is destroyed and nothing is left for time to probe