6 Minutes

The following was written and (not) edited in 6 minutes:

 I am uncomfortable. Is it the time o space bending, my mind or spirit eroding that pulls and pokes at the skin under my wrists. I know not how to make sense. I know not, ever, what to do with myself. There is no clarity when the time senses stutter like this. I spend my day in comforts; I treat myself all right. But what of the world around me? I am struggling. I am babbling. 6 minutes. 6 minutes. I don't know what to do, but this is what I must for now. 6 minutes. 6 minutes. To think, try write to do, to exude the fprce that moves one through time. 6 minutes. 6 minutes. HOw many of these make up a life time. What use are my words. What value do they hold if tall time is relative. The gravity to be witnessed here is strong? I lie, but time nonetheless has stretched. 6 minutes. 6 years. My lifetime. 6 minutes. 6 minutes. What am I to do with this discomfort. What am I to do when the thoughts rush and the train never leaves the station. Actions are nothing. Thoughts aren't mine. 6 minutes. Don't give me 6 minutes more. Can I bear this for a minute more. What value have I made of this time. Space bends. Time stretches. 6 minutes. What a waste. Is there anything more. 6 minutes. 6 minutes. Oh no this excercise didn't work. 6 minutes. 6 minutes. How long will this take to read. Of what value is this time wasted. Where do the thoughts come from and where will they go. 1 minute. 6 minutes. I have no soul to pour into this. I don't know where it comes from. I see it makes no sense. 6 minytes. 6 miutes. Seconds to go. What have I made. Where will it go? Alost no minutes. 6 minutes. This is my creation. It has no flow. What a failure. 6 minutes. 6 minutes. I must stop. 6 minutes. 6 minutes. Stop.