She hears the caustic ticking of the clock

Time wraps itself around my wrist, a shackle to tie me to the world of class and work, calendars and schedules. Tiny boxes to parse my years, my months, my weeks, my days, my life. Cut me up and shove me into spaces. Stretch me thin to fill the voids. Caustic ticking echoes in my ears. A reminder of endings and impending doom. Deadlines. Emphasis on the dead. The walking dead this time of year. We wander through the halls, sit in classes, converse with others all while inhabiting another world. Disconnected. A waking sleep. Until the ticking calls us back and the flying hands slice off a piece of our heart so we will fit in 24 hours.

[Time has been weighing on me a bit lately. The knowledge of things coming to an end. The need to plan for the future. The days packed with work and class and paper writing. The calendars and agendas and lists.]