As midnight strikes, I wage wars
with invisible enemies
that will never breach
your side of the snow globe.
And you'll wake like my nightmares
are your dream catchers.
You'll wake and catch sunlight,
dew drops and morning air.
You are in the bubble of where
good things still happen.
You are where
I am not.

And sometimes I still wonder
how you get the better
end of the bargain,
while I only get nostalgia,
unhealthy coping mechanisms
and nuclear explosion
barren spaces in my heart.

I can't see past old horizons
and what's stuck ticking restlessly
on blank canvas walls
has always been a marker
dividing my present
from yours.

Two second-hands living in the same Big Ben
counter and clockwise beat together in a similar rhythm on opposing schedules of the day
she breaks her fast at around 8am, syncing with his injestion of supper and she collapses at midnight just as he reboots for the night shift
though they spend most of the ticks and tocks in varying angles
It was agreed upon that they meet on the sixth –
Definitely on the sixth of the week
to reconcile and kindle… caressing those can’t-be-helped blank spaces where fragments should have been

Ominous silence!
All clocks chime in unison,
Silence recoils quick

Wasting time, hours spent doing nothing.
She once thought she could hold the world in her hands,
stand on mountains and face the gods.
Now she's stuck. Lost, trapped and out of time.

She worries about time, watching clocks tick by;
her hours are spent trembling, anxious of the rising sun.
The moon holds her gaze, gleaming down from her kitchen window.
"Why did you leave me?" she calls out, eyes sorrowful.

The moon just stares, fixated on the girl in the window.
Time keeps ticking by, the moon turning into the sun.
As the rising dawn arrives, setting fire to the cold sky,
she holds her head high and whispers,

"The sun will always rise." The sun smiles back,
radiating warmth that keeps her from turning to stone.
Smashing the clock, shattering glass on stone floors.
The girl breaths a sigh, the clock's ticking stopping.

Personal problems consume me,
nobody gets the fears I have.
The clock counts away the time to live,
ticking before I know the true feeling of love.
The clock is about to fall off the wall
and lose all of it's time.