Hollow Hourglass

You ever

get a second chance And find everybody waiting To spend it for

you? Listen.

Signed me out at dawn with a bill and a ride,

No instruction sheet for the panic inside.

Plastic on my wrist,

brown stain on my coat,

Said, "Take it easy." Whole world's on go.

Every brake in traffic puts me back in that seat,

Hands won't leave the handle,

no feeling in my feet.

Driver asking questions; I can barely find a word,

Radio keeps talking like the whole world hasn't turned.

Last night, bargaining with seconds on a dial,

Now they want a signature,

an address and a smile.

Phone lights up: "You know we need you,

right?" Everybody got a plan for the rest of my life.

Type, "I'll call you later," let the message slide,

Keep that bracelet on the wrist I try to hide.

Shopkeeper sweeping out, hanging up his sign,

Would've done the same damn thing if I'd run out of time.

The time I got left ain't yours to spend.

Won't buy your peace with my life again.

Let the phone keep ringing.

Let the whole thing fall.

Gave you enough. You ain't getting it all.

Tow-yard gravel, broken glass in the dirt,

Seat belt cut clean through the shoulder of my shirt.

Man at the counter says,

"Take what you can find." My watch has stopped.

I still keep checking the time.

Wallet in the footwell,

some change beneath the seat,

Two coffees on a receipt from the end of last week.

Funny what survives when a person nearly doesn't,

Glove box full of reasons I was always running.

Then you call. No "How you doing?" No relief.

Just, "Where's the envelope?" and "What about my piece?" Stand beside the

wreck, let you finish what you say.

You can hear that I'm alive; all you hear is a delay.

Said we came up together,

said we split it fair,

Risk was always mine; your name was never there.

Thought being needed meant I had a friend.

You were pricing out the hours till I'd work for you again.

The time I got left ain't yours to spend.

Won't buy your peace with my life again.

Let the phone keep ringing.

Let the whole thing fall.

Gave you enough. You ain't getting it all.

The watch stopped.

I didn't.

I keep forgetting the difference.

Today,

I'm trying to remember.

Outside that yard, let the phone ring twice,

Took a breath that hurt: "You don't get my life." You laughed

like I was bluffing,

said I'd come around,

Watched a little trail of oil run along the ground.

Said, "After all I've done," like I hadn't paid you back,

In nights I can't remember,

in the sleep I never catch.

Told you, "Keep your promises.

I'm keeping what's still mine." Put the phone away.

Didn't wait for your reply.

Still a week behind on rent,

still counting what I've got,

Still flinch at sudden brakes,

still need to stop a lot.

Saw a number on a notice in a hardware store,

Asked if they needed hands.

Said, "Come back at four." Maybe that goes nowhere.

Maybe I begin again.

Stopped watch in my pocket,

some feeling in my hands.

Still get scared. Still get up.

Both can be true.

Got hours left to live.

They don't belong to you.

The time I got left ain't yours to spend.

Won't buy your peace with my life again.

Let the phone keep ringing.

Let the whole thing fall.

Gave you enough. You ain't getting it all.

The time I got left ain't yours to spend.

Won't buy your

peace with my life again.

Let the phone keep ringing.

Let the whole thing fall.

It's my breath. It's my life.

You don't get it all.

First step hurt. Next one did

too. Kept walking. The

rest of this day is mine.