Shorter winter breaks. Longer summer nights. Longer the list of things that'll kill you, no wonder some fear time. Invincible it is. You cannot stop it, no matter the effort. Open eyes underneath buzzing streetlights. So tired you whip out the clothespins to keep your eyes wide like they do in spongebob. Childhood friends lay stoically still in overdecorated pine boxes, outfitted in their Sunday's bestest. A lone tear trickles down your face, soon followed by many more. Memories of sandbox dialogues and childhood interactions balloon themselves before your already overflowing eyes. Three shots, was all it took. You ducked, but his reflexes weren't as quick. "Son, you straight?" no answer. A pierced lung, and soon the other filled with blood. Suffocation, said to be the most painful way to die... "Not my baby," his mother cries to the ceiling of the church. The pain fills her eyes with this animalistic quality. Not nearly as loud, for if you were to cry out as his mother did, you'd be hastily quieted and ushered, escorted out of the sanctuary until you got yourself together. Open eyes underneath buzzing streetlights. Tell Time if I catch him, Imma beat his ass, and you laugh. Silly goose, Time's beating your ass, as we converse of his whereabouts. Stolen friends and repressed youth. Nah, I fear him. Time has feelings too. He must be worshiped. An altar prepared before him, no thing omitted that is held precious and dear to the heart. Open eyes underneath buzzing streetlights.