When Time Slows

Whenever I go to the hospital, I blink in and out. With each visit, Time would go slower and slower and slower and slower. The seconds would feel like hours, and my arms would feel like lead. Each talk with each nurse seems muddled and my voice would go lower and lower until it's mute. Each time I go forth into that white orphanage, my senses mix and Time is slowed.

I've never liked hospitals, but more profoundly is it because my clocks grow sluggish and my own senses stop to a halt. They would mix among each other, knotting and tying themselves and causing confusion to my muscles. Each move, each twitch, it grows slower and slower until everything lags and stops.

Time will grow slower every time I visit white. I only hope that I won't have to visit one again for a long time.