#clock poem

[beeing-stuupid]

#53

The hands keep turning.

They reach for the boundaries

of their confined space

but are always out of reach.

Figures loom under

and try hide in the shadows

but that will not stop

the constant staring of eyes.

[postapocalypticeuphoria]

tick

i see my life as a clock

seconds go by, some feel really long if you look at the clock at just the right moment

some feel as though they’re going by faster than normal

then they all accumulate into bigger segments

but no matter how long or short they are

i cannot turn away from the clock

i can’t ignore the clock, i can’t ignore the ticking of the hands

i can’t look away as the ticking slowly gets louder

and i feel myself leaving my body

it echoes

my brain rattles as the ticking gets louder and the clock gets bigger

they loom, i am faced with something much bigger than myself

yet i am expected to cope, expected to deal with it

i hear nothing else but the ticking, it has my focus

yet i can’t help but feel that by focusing on the ticking each second

i am missing the minutes as they silently slip by

i forget the hours, for the ticking seconds are louder

my brain forcing me to think about what happens when the ticking stops

one day this ticking will stop

the clock will display the wrong time

never to be changed again

and suddenly, that ticking sound is comforting

because as long as it’s still there, so am i