There I sat each night, prepared to drown the ache,
Praying each pour would grant my soul a brief escape.
Yet the old clock on the wall begins its mournful plea,
A stern and brooding gaze, though strangely kin to me.
The clock is rusted thin—corroded, tired, and frail,
A mirror of my past, a ghostly, distant tale.
Each tick exhales a grief I’ve struggled to ignore,
And every hour sketches fears I wouldn’t dare endure.
The glass of amber brew, the poison my heart desires,
Like a dance of love and hate, one of truths and one of lies.
She draws me with her beauty, and tames me with each kiss,
Yet her scent smells of guilt and regret, with sorrows mixed.
The stogie at my side is the companion of the long night’s hollow,
Each breath a fleeting peace from all that left or which may follow.
The sound of each drag is like the consoling words of a lover,
Silent but warm, fades yet echoes, like the memories left of her.
- C.R -
Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 1:27 PM UTC
There I sat each night, prepared to drown the ache,
Praying each pour would grant my soul a brief escape.
Yet the old clock on the wall begins its mournful plea,
A stern and brooding gaze, though strangely kin to me.
The clock is rusted thin—corroded, tired, and frail,
A mirror of my past, a ghostly, distant tale.
Each tick exhales a grief I’ve struggled to ignore,
And every hour sketches fears I wouldn’t dare endure.
The glass of amber brew, the poison my heart desires,
Like a dance of love and hate, one of truths and one of lies.
She draws me with her beauty, and tames me with each kiss,
Yet her scent smells of guilt and regret, with sorrows mixed.
The stogie at my side is the companion of the long night’s hollow,
Each breath a fleeting peace from all that left or which may follow.
The sound of each drag is like the consoling words of a lover,
Silent but warm, fades yet echoes, like the memories left of her.
- C.R -