Prolonging suffocation.

The reality of an infinite time blows coldly through a cracked window.  It travels with the ease of knowing, deceptively thin and fleet of foot.  Enshrouded within a vast expanse like a cocoon in an abyss, infinity seems the stronger jailer, for even after metamorphosing we remain bound within its walls.  Life is good for the butterfly in the jar, so long as the lid has enough holes.  You never see it attempting to escape, only trying to fly farther away.  Luckily that breeze blows on forever, bringing the opiate of fresh air.