Its putrid breath lingers in the air, suffocating me and making my heart beat harder, faster, stronger. It is the heavy barrel of a gun, loaded on my shoulder with bullets the size of life, urging me to go, go, go. Never a moment to lose, never a moment to pause, never a moment to breathe.

It’s a pressure in my head, a boiling fissure, waiting to explode. The constant ticking becomes my only companion, as all others abandon me, leave me for lost. It is the lover I take to bed, as I feel its heavy presence throughout the night, reminding me that even my dreams are not my own.

It is a prod in the shoulder, a whisper in my head, a nudge to the shins, that demands that I go faster: talk faster, walk faster, eat faster, think faster. It haunts me even when I believe I am alone, the silent tick-tock a never-ending reverberation in my heart, an echo in my soul.

Its hot grains trickle through my hands; the harder I try and hold on, the quicker they disappear. Its numbers find me everywhere, the harsh lines and sinister curves blinking ominously at me, their blank stares oblivious to my pain. The terror of losing it claws at my throat, as it threatens to strangle me, while I am left wheezing, gasping for a reprieve.

It is elusive and evasive. I chase after it endlessly, always certain that now I will grasp it, will coddle it in my arms, never let it go. But with a gentle touch, it is gone again, careening through the world, flirting with those who love and lost.  It soars through the sky, unlimited and free, while I am a prisoner again, bound to it, chained to the ground.

There is never enough of it.