Killing time

Killing time. I was going to blog about something else but now that I’ve said it wouldn’t it be cool? Killing time.
To hold time by the neck, hanging him over the edge of the tallest building you can find, squeezing and squeezing until you can see the tears in his eyes and that annoying vein that pops out of your forehead. He’ll kick and he’ll wheeze and you’ll laugh. Laugh out loud, because you’re killing time. And as his lifeless fingers drop from their vain clawing at your fingers and wrists, and as his eyes glaze over you will know that it has finally been done. You can get on with all that truly matters in life since you no longer have the option of killing time. You can no longer kill time because time, is dead.
His head lolls back on his now limp neck and you let go. Let him fall. Watch him fall, turning over and over and blurring in and out of focus, convulsing in some strange time warp like blur, in and out of sight until somehow, all the way from the top of that empty shell of a building, you hear him hit the pavement with the ominous tock of a grandfather clock and what remains disintegrates with the rushing sound of sand flowing through an hourglass. And the winds will come and blow time away, the little bits of him flying, carried on the wind swirling in sad beautiful arcs and dips now and then catching the glint of the dying rays of the six o'clock sunset.

Cheers to spontaneous emo vomit.