Short Untitled ‘Poem’

It’s just a feeling,
that you have all the time in the world.
You don’t.
Never did.
It’s only just a feeling.

When the universe bats an eye,
you’re already forgotten.
Come and gone;
barely even a memory of,
a figment of an imagination.

You’re here;
you stay a spell;
and then you disappear.

No use crying about it.
There’s no time.
“All the time in the world,”
is just nonsense.
It’s bullshit.

It only something people say,
to reconcile the fact that:
a hill of beans,
doesn’t even really amount to,
a hill of beans.

And so you can take that,
for whatever it’s worth.
Or not.
It’s your time that you don’t have.
Should this be what you spend it on?

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