Oddly untrue is our own perception of the passing by of each and everyone of us... of anything actuallly that inhabits the least of space in the so-called 'infinity' which we cannot comprehend...
And yet it is there in a form ... or another. We might envy time, and the dull days that we carry around with us are no longer of interest to anyone but the little kids staring at the sun through giant binocullars. So we might as well run, if time chases us, with a sledgehammer, possibly we'll go out on sentience sooner or later, as exausture brings us down eventually... and a stop.

And in the darkness the colors in your mind persist... the vague shillouetes of the scarlet angels... the very ones that guard at the gates of your sanity. If they fall asleep while on duty, you will know... insanity is always on Time.