I can hear it louder now,
Its ticking once again.
I can hear my watching screaming
"Time is up for you my friend"
See poetry is not a gift
Nor a way of life
Poetry is gushing blood
When pulling out a knife
That knife was burrowed deep inside
It felt like it was the end
then he said, i take that back
Time is up for you my friend
The gushing blood screamed out to me
You cannot make this right
You can kick and you can scream
But this is not your fight
This is on his shoulders now
The weight does make him sick
Still he does not care on bit
That your watch no longer tics