Those clocks, like school clocks. So dreary, bleak. I sit in this building with no windows with it's off white walls. The geriatrics in front of me make me seem like a child. I want to be that old some day. Right now would be better. I keep looking at those clocks with their thin, red hands moving along with every second that passes by...these clocks...these damn clocks...I wish they would stop. I want time to stop. I want time to breathe. To stop, to think. To make everthing different. To change all these outcomes. To impede the hand of death from touching me. To staunch these illnesses from grasping at this short meaningless life. Would i atone for every failure? Would I take back every word I ever said? Courage. I've got none.