A slave to time

His touch was little at first.

Barely holding onto my back.

With time his touch gripped on to my neck like a huge claw.

I was a slave to his world.

Do as he says, when he says, how he says.

The life I envisioned was no longer mine, but his.

He caressed me, soothed me, broke me.

My life was not the life I’d chosen, but the one he’d chosen.

Reality was slowly fading away.

My body was no longer mine, my soul no longer present,

for he had consumed me.

I was desperate for clarity, for light, for anything to pull me back.

But no one ever came.

Because he forbid it time after time. 

He was ruthless to me, had no mercy on me.  

He had consumed me and drained me of the last hope I’d had. 

I was cold and blue. 

There was no light.

Days went by to months, months went by to years, and still

I was under his command. 

He followed everywhere I went, like a leech sucking on human flesh.

I couldn’t get rid of him, I can never get rid of him.

His name was time. 

His name still is time.

And tomorrow and always, time, will be his name.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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