clockstruck
Time spins always,
without my permission.
Hours-minutes-seconds-everything between
tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tick
I could have sworn it just skipped a beat.
Staring at me, the white face bends a smirk.
Each tick of this teasing clock is torture.
Each hand a throbbing splinter
wedged deep,
deep between my fractured skull.
Analogue gears grind my teeth
down to dust. I can’t stop the
machine before it stops me.
My eyes are slave to the hypnotic swirl;
infinite axe crashes down clockwise,
and always swings round for seconds’
Red line patterns beam a digital dream.
Paralysis faster than a snoozing bullet.
A buzzing shrill is my electric chair;
I fry every morning.
Each precious second
is slain by the next.
A cycle ticking toward extinction,
forever the bloodless war of our time.
Another day dies as
I wander hopelessly
toward tomorrow’s end.
Spring forward, recede back.
Wake up, die down.
What is this torment?
© Cody Schweickert, 2014