On What Time Does

I believe too often. I lose myself too easily. I fall into old patterns of doubt. I stumble. I flail. I wait. I bide my time. I hold my tongue. I yell and curse and stand on unsteady feet. I resort to sleep. To silence. To quietness. To early morning blue grey dawns, the same day breaking through the window. I count them. They pass. The same. Through the night, when you are asleep. I sit. All the dawns that you don’t see. All the mornings I travel blindly. I give up too much. I have given away too much. I think too much. I have too much time to pass. Too much fucking endless time. I don’t want to give anymore. I don’t want to believe anymore. All of it, I want it back. It’s not for sale. It never was.