the ticking of a well-known clock is always in the background
as we draw breath from a planet designed to accommodate us.

sometimes, it lurks in the shadows
as we fill our hearts with love.
the present takes us by the hand,
so we stay with it joyfully.

other times, it bounces off the cold, white walls
until we cannot remember a day without it.
hope has flown away, so we wander through the past,
trying to find a way to put the noise to bed.

we find a moment that is soft to the touch -  
where the only sound we can hear is laughter.
we hold it to our chests to stay warm
as we close our eyes in surrender.

the ticking finally stops.

You see the writing, the truth in life,
Behind the painting of joy, none can say.
An empty room, a seat wherefore to write
Things that come to mind in full light
Are burnt by the light of the world's day.

You feel like you're going to pop,
Hold on it's quite the same as when you
Were a kid, you're just watching empty
Drama and behold, after all you're just a 'clay mold,'
This is the rest of  your life. Do as you're...

No going back, you see the clock count
The endless hours of one meaningless
Waste of natural beauty as it will someday decay.
This is all that's too come, soon at least they will
Earn a fortune in time, all that's left of the sun
And the stary night sky...is 'Ashen Gray.'

I went to sleep - then woke up at 1:23
And when again at 4:56 it looked like a scheme
Then again at 7:89 but that must have been a dream

I’m an imposter.

I’m an imposter and no one can know.

I may end up on the street in rags that once were my clothes.

Money isn’t everything,
But being poor blows

And I’m facing the clock.

What then felt like freedom now feels like a box;

Like a long leash
in a big yard
Where the gate’s always locked.

I need a breather,
for I have set a timer,
in each fraction of my life

I've never tried running a marathon but,
I have always felt that I'm running out of time.

The clock struck a peculiar time
Reverberating on the window pains
When I looked up from the old wooden desk
To the stark white face of that piece  
My eyes were caught in a haze
The hands of the clock eluded me
The chair scratched against the floor
As I moved backwards and rubbed my eyes
My ears popped ever so slightly
Light headedness came on to me
I found it and remained conscious
Aware of what would occur should I fall,
Succumbing to that mechanism
I mustered myself to remove the clock
Lifting it from a single nail in the wall
I placed in in the top drawer of the desk
It's ticking was no longer audible
Yet I still felt the reverberation
It bounced and rattled within my bones
A pulsing echo within my mind
Never louder yet with each throb
It grew more and more distinct

Then it stopped altogether
And the shadows grew long in the room
I paned out the old attic space
For the breifest moment
Before the shadows evaporated
Blending and mixing with the darkness

We never stopped dealing with this procrastination,
but what is this fleeting elation?

The clock is moving in such motion,
one would think that it's your imagination;
Was it all an exaggeration?

every drop i bleed
is another chance of life gone
every passing month
a sober reminder
of a clock that won't stop ticking
tick. tick. tick.
desperate hands
on a hollow womb
every drop i bleed
makes it harder for me
to meet you