Nunca el mismo

Hello from the thousandth corner in the depths of nowhere we belong.

I'm too late.
Time ran away from me and left evidence of waste behind.
I ran, and I struggled to make it, but time didn't wait for me.
It never does.
This constant wants me to take a hint.
Or, two.
Perhaps keep racing against it for all laughable purposes.
I won't.
Next time, time will race on alone.

Moniter

To take this space elsewhere...
The waves of color that envelop dismay into a fresh wash, leaving only the faintist strain of pragmatism behind.
Those frightful edges that act as gritty far off corners and alleyways to keep that fresh wash in the foreground as a self prophesied predicament, making it seemingly detrimental for the dishearting semblance to reappear, as if on cue in a prevalent messy pattern.
The softness that is there to service the repercussions of the drear and distress, yet that still implicates a reminder that those dark dissatisfying attachments are indeed real, have served and will remind that they will serve once again.
And the enclosing geometry that condones the laws of external and internal motion to continue, to be superior and demand attention and satisfaction; to require that all adhere.

Residing here, never on leave, never to be mistrusted to not appear.
Yet, always here.
Always.
Not moving, unable to be lifted, to be examined upon from the bottom, from the sides, in x-ray form.
Clearly known to reside; to exist.
All that is expected is the residency of this space.
Sitting residency.