"Spiral Hours"

The hands keep moving, yet I never arrive. Every second folds into another, a whirlpool of minutes dragging me deeper. What is tomorrow, if today is still unfinished? What is yesterday, but a shadow stretched too thin? I chase the ticking, but the numbers curve away, a staircase without an end, a question without an answer. And still— the clock does not stop. It only swallows.