Holding my breath
I stood still and yet I ran. Time held my hand; pulling me forth while I refused all her plans.
My wrists weak from twisting, bruised to the bone. She whispered my name as she labeled my soul.
Every time it was spoken, she stared with sorrowful eyes. Begging me to acknowledge that holding my breath would never stop time.
My life spread out raw, across decades, months, and days; I've traced all the lines, but the picture remains incomplete.
Picking up the fragments. Learning of my fate.
Is it me who's made these choices?
Or am I just an endless loop of sordid days?
Posted Jul 31, 2019, 5:43 AM UTC
I enjoyed this a lot. The first sentence really drew me in with the personification of time. I like the way youre keeping that theme and manage to make this personal to your experience, too. Ending with questions is great to make the reader think more about your message and I think you managed to put a new twist on this kind of theme.
I like the flow, too, however I stumbled at the "incomplete". Maybe have another look at that line.
Yes I noticed that stumble at incomplete, but decided to leave it in as I felt it kind of gave a sense of incompleteness. However it seems that was not the best choice! Thank you for the feedback!