A person sits and cries
Knees together, holding her face
Lips quiver, and tears leak from cracks
Hide from the world
Not just a girl
But full grown
A woman, long

A clock clicks
Wordless in the night
It's not the precision preferred
Everything is not all right
It's face so pretty
Decorated with scrolls
Beautiful in architecture

It tells the time
But cannot really see inside
It's mind isn't shattered
It's still beautiful
Cogs, levers, springs and gears
It can only look at others
Knows something is wrong

It sees the world, all the other faces
Clocks themselves, faces hiding minds
Only hears the tick, click and tock
Sometimes it rains, humidity brings
Another tock, and knows it's off
Just one more tick
Make it work

One has to look past the face
See it's mind, complete
Not the pretty, but
Admire the precision
Mechanical beauty
Revenged emotional
Struggling time

Always trying so hard
Get through the hours
Minutes in seconds
Maybe it's ok, a little slow
A little fast, time makes time
Looking at clocks
Feeling only wrong

But it's the slow and fast
Moments between
When someday, it seems
That ticks and tocks
Patchwork healing
Shrugging, painful seconds
Keep perfect time

The other clocks
Faces hiding broken minds
Look to that grand Ol' tock
See only that it goes
Not its struggle
So in her hands
Tears slide down

Her woman's cheeks
All red, eyes puffy
A mind restrained
She hides her face, not
So all the other clocks
Can all go tick, tock
Click, whir

She only knows her
Ignoring the fact that
Her time is perfect
For everything he needs
Because the beauty of
Elegance is precession

His sense is timeless
Wonder not measured
For hours, creep
Minutes, tick
Seconds, wander
But altogether
She is everything

somewhere in between
the lost voices echoing
in my heart of hearts
and the burning in the
back of my eyes as you
told me your goodbyes,
i lost my sanity.
and i guess that it's my fault
for loving you so recklessly,
and it's my fault for carving
the image of you smiling
under the august sun
into the walls of my worn out heart.
because ever since you left
i spend hours in the shower trying to
scrub away your ghostly fingertips
from my skin
but at night i claw at the places
you touched most,
trying like a madwoman to feel
your presence once again.
i say your name like a mantra
that governs the very existence
of my consciousness
and some days i feel the bile
rise in my chest as I hear
your name on the street.
i am tired of empty eyes
and trembling bones.
i am tired of being a ghost
of the girl i once was
and if i'm being honest
-and i am-
you were my beginning
as well as my ending.
so how do you expect a person
to go on when all the air
has been pulled from their lungs?
these days in the spaces between my sheets
i still smell your musky cologne
and i spend hours heaving out
memories that i had etched into
the marrow of my bones.
i am a madwoman
that lost herself in a fire
of loveless eyes and passionate
nothings.
i am a madwoman.
i am just a madwoman.