Hourglass. Poem by MIRAK Montiel

Hourglass

Bone-cold chill in this room.
I lay down like everything is fine —
but I know the truth:
ignoring my demons won't make them leave.
They linger.
They feast.
Like maggots on guilt,
slowly devouring me from the inside out.

Anxiety wraps around my airways.
I begin to suffocate.

I put myself here again —
the same place,
the same pain.
How long until I break?
Fracture like old glass?

It's just a matter of time now.
The hourglass has flipped,
marking the beginning of my end.
I can't sit here.
I can't eat here.
Everything expires eventually —
and whatever this is,
it'll rot before I'm ready.

Prophecies of today
I saw in the past.
History repeating
with no rewind,
no escape.

How long before I finally let go?
Because I can't find the way out.
I keep digging
and digging,
and soon —
I won't be able to climb back up.

So as I write,
my life begins to spill,
bleeding from this reality
into something darker,
deeper,
quieter.

And everything I am
is just a boat,
already filling with water,
just waiting
to sink.