Much can happen
In the space
Between the marks
Of the seconds
On a clock
The world could turn
Into a murky brown puddle
Of **** and shitstains
That dirties the boots
Of all the people
On the way to work
Or home to the wife
And twelve kids
The room with white walls
Slowly but surely
Turns to one with black walls
That sweat dark pearls
That melt the doorknob,
Block the windows,
And cover the door
The bubbles in the bath
Burst and leave clear water
That hold your floating filth
In microscopic specks
And the flickering light
Flirts with you
To dip your head and fall asleep
In the fading warmth
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Much can happen
In the space
Between the marks
Of the seconds
On a clock
The world could turn
Into a murky brown puddle
Of **** and shitstains
That dirties the boots
Of all the people
On the way to work
Or home to the wife
And twelve kids
The room with white walls
Slowly but surely
Turns to one with black walls
That sweat dark pearls
That melt the doorknob,
Block the windows,
And cover the door
The bubbles in the bath
Burst and leave clear water
That hold your floating filth
In microscopic specks
And the flickering light
Flirts with you
To dip your head and fall asleep
In the fading warmth
Based on some lines of The Crunch by Charles Bukowski
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