It's that **** clock on my wall. . .

It speaks to me intensely as if repeating the things it's seen.
Reminding me with every tick that I've been tricked and every tock obscenely crushing my fairy tale  dreams.
Reminding me that I'm sitting in this room alone.
Left with nothing but this tick, followed by this tock. Telling me that it's the only thing I can depend on. The hands of my clock.