My mouth widened its passage to yawn out the drowsiness,
in my dizzy mind and endless tickling of my eyes closing—
while I still fight for my consciousness to live,
while she was out there playing fire with the rain.

Where the time goes back and she meets me from the tree of souls,
from her tears there comes a glimpse of tomorrow, and from her black silky hair,
there comes a defying gravity
of sleep and reality.

I once entered a door of hope—where the dead sleeps and live
from heavenly green pastures,
trees alive and birds whistling
a great melody of harps
and angels' tune,
there I saw her—and the time stops,
the bell rang, the place filled with the tricky lights,
from the tree of souls,
there is one key that holds the glimpses of yesterday and tomorrow.

I yawned out the momentum of my blissful sleep
waking up from a deep heavy dream,
the clock ticked, the trees danced, the winds hustled, and
I danced on the curtains of life.
I kept a straight face and distanced myself
from the harmony it brings,
my body sways and my voice sang
a melody with an unfamiliar tune,
my heart swelled and I saw her.

She slowly stride her feet and welcomed me her arms, while I let out the tears
and cry crystal diamonds, wiped it with her swollen hands—
she let out a laugh I am longing to hear,
“It will be over, I promise.”

"Tick, tick, tick,"
The little watch shouts.
He sits inside my pocket
And awaits me drawing him out.

Tic, tic, tic
It's time for me to rest.
Society and anxiety
Give me too much stress.

"Tick, tick, tick,"
His voice puts me to sleep.
I love his perfect rhythms-
The perfect time he keeps.

Tic, tic, tic
The second I put him away,
The vicious tics come back
I wish they wouldn't stay.

"Tick, tick, tick,"
Directly into my ear.
The only way to stay 'normal'
Is through the rhythm I hear.

Tic, tic, tic
Whenever I am stressed,
The painful tics come back
And cannot be suppressed.

"Tick, tick, tick,"
The second-hand marches on.
Enduring all his hardships,
He's rewound every dawn.

Tic, tic, tic
My fists are bruised and aching.
"What a crazy spaz"
Society's gaze is saying.

"Tick, tick, tick,"
My lovely watch proclaims.
I whisper the rhythm back;
The perfection keeps me sane.

- - -

I need my pocket watch beside me.
Though it may not seem I do.
You simply do not understand
The troubles I'm pushing through.

The terrible sounds and motions
Are so very, very draining.
The worry to always suppress,
Wears out by the day's ending.

My watch sits beside me,
Ticking as I write this
(Ticking so I don't have to),
And reading as a witness.

Stardust complexities
s
       h
i
       m
m
       e
r
out in golden blue.
The exacting clockwork of the cosmos ticks
ponderously
in Kepler seconds.

Chronology here is kept by
the
pendulous
sway
of
planets.

Aeons as minutes.

We are just dust
on the gears.

Galactic flecks,
swept up
in the filigree pirouette of an
astronomical timepiece.
Here, but not here.
Q        .
.        U
A        .
.        N
T         .
.        U
M        .
and fleeting.

Drip drop drip drop.
Tears keep falling and never stop.
Tick tock tick tock. Tears fall away with every click of the clock.

Like clockwork flip the pillow to the dry side. Time will tell. Its a temporary lie. Alone in the dark. No one sees when I cry.
Wouldn't matter if they did cause no one cares if I die. Drip drop.

Dawn is nearing. Tick tock. Hope I once again see the light. Forever and ever I've known nothing but night. Eyes swollen from tears that distort my sight. Will I ever be free? Will things ever be right?

Tick tock. Time will tell. Another pillowcase soaked as I'm pondering hell. Drip drop. How long must I cry? How long must I suffer before I inevitably die? Can't stop the pain no matter how hard I try.

Drip drop Drip drop
Can't stop the tears

Tick tock tick tock
Can't stop the clock.

12
•                               •

•                                                 •
|
9         «———  >§<  ———»         3

•                                                 •

•                               •
6

“Struck is the hour from its ivory tower,
At sixes and sevens, the stars in their heavens,

As minute hands dance at twilight's advance,
To the cadence of time, the archangel’s chime;

Listen closely for me at a quarter to thee,
‘Twixt the tick and the tock of grandpapa’s clock,

Unquicken thine pace, for run is the race,
Hear the pendulum lock, ziccoty, diccoty, dock.”