Reminders of time

Late at night, minutes before it can no longer be considered so. I reflect on each passing moment as I sit stilled by the storm. I never asked to be made this way. Sands of time slip through my shaken fingers like sugar through a sift. I am left with powder that clump with my tears, I'll try to shape it into memories of me being there instead of holed up in my room. All of me knows that it never happened and that alone will eat me alive more so than any pleading gaze. Don't look at me like that.. my sin is sloth, so I'll die with my hands behind my back since reaching out would take too much work.