He feels as if life is passing by quicker each day, the feeling of being left to rot gnawing at his inner mind, he is scared.
Not scared of what other are doing, or of the way the world looks at him as if he's nothing, he's scared of loosing himself to time.
Time, the constant he can't escape steadily ensuring the world grows, while he stagnates.
What will we see that only time will tell?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem