Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Times the clock.

Crunch. Crunch. Step. Crack.
Boots in snow, to asphalt, to a broken bridge.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
High heels clamber up my back.

Tap. Tap Tip. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tip. Tap.
Echoes every drop of rain outside, mayhap?

Clock timing my demise from the sky to the ground, to the floor beneath your stiletto heels, the pain washed away by the sound of rain, so numb so as not to even feel the water trickle down.