the clock marks twelve with a
hollow chime.
in its wake, the air thickens, heavy
with absence.
shadows ripple across the walls,
shifting like thoughts half-formed,
dark and untethered.
the corner stretches, widens,
becomes something deeper,
a mouth that might swallow me
if i meet its gaze too long
the ceiling groans softly,
its beams contracting
as if under the weight
of something unseen.
i sit still, breathing shallow,
watching the shadows watch me,
and wonder if the clock
will ever strike one.
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 5:33 AM UTC
the clock marks twelve with a
hollow chime.
in its wake, the air thickens, heavy
with absence.
shadows ripple across the walls,
shifting like thoughts half-formed,
dark and untethered.
the corner stretches, widens,
becomes something deeper,
a mouth that might swallow me
if i meet its gaze too long
the ceiling groans softly,
its beams contracting
as if under the weight
of something unseen.
i sit still, breathing shallow,
watching the shadows watch me,
and wonder if the clock
will ever strike one.
Request permission to use this poem