a toast to time.

Stop staring at the clock.
Tick, Tick. Tock, Tock.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock.
A litany of deafening drumbeats
To match the sound of your slowly dying heart.
No matter which way you look at it, it's always the same:
Life passes by in fast-forward all around
And you're left alone, as frozen as the vacant look in your eyes.

L'chaim, you say. To life.
You drink to life, basking in the delight
Of every raised glass and every glorious sip.
Inebriated debauchery animating each stumble, each misstep.
And escaping your lips, utterances of poetic disaster.
Senseless drawings fill the ever blank pages of the Steno pad of your imagination
The glass falls, scattering broken shards as hard as your luck,
In a salute of farewell to the last vestiges of your consciousness.

False confidence, destroyed in your raging torment:
False as the flimsy idols built to protect your fractured ego.
You count off each broken bead on the rosary of your identity,
Algebraic nonsense never to depart from the jumbled architecture of your mind.
Succumb to the misguided voices that call to you.
The blinding light of reality descends upon your disembodied soul,
Lost forever to the nameless and faceless ambiguity of the world.