My head ticks and tocks  
like a grandfather clock  
with a grieving jaw.  
Hours droop.  
Time slouches inward,  
skipping stones across memory  
I swore I’d drowned.

There’s no forward in this place—  
just loops pulled taut  
and calendars  
that flinch when I turn the page.

I stopped marking days  
when they stopped holding shape.  
Now time arrives  
already exhausted.

It used to race.  
Now it recoils  
each time I try  
to move on.