Twenty nine thousand days, the hourglass runs,
each grain of sand malicious in it's own cruel way.

The golden motes stream incessantly burying what came before,
to be forgotten for eternity like every figment of you.

With each prassing day, the sands run faster,
eroding the wall of the hourglass.

Then thousand days left.
It leaves scorch marks upon you which will never heal.

You glimpse at the sand for the first and last time,
and see that your life has been wasted.

You stand immobile, lonely in an accelerating world,
which has long forgotten your existance.

Twenty six days left, the hourglass runs
you no longer exist in the sapient world.

Ten days left, you have been dismissed,
the hourglass wall shatters.

Sand flumps down in an infinitesimally small moment.
You cease to exist forever.
And the only things eternal are
your non-existance and death.
 
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