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Salem Noxolo Mar 27
Have I sand in my shoes?
Nay. Maybe rocks in my socks.
Nay. Maybe anvils in my pants.
Nay. Maybe clocks in my tops.
Nay. Maybe bricks in my bras.
Nay. Are my earrings made of steel?
No,
Yet my beat is slowing,
And my feet are moaning.
My pace is similar to snails'.
My eyes are open,
But as open as the holes in a chinois.
I've not caught up on caffeine.
So maybe I should go get more sleep.
But wait!
Just gotta let my tea seap
And the incesnce burn out
And untie my shoes
While I'm at it, let's clean the house
And make some apple pies
Retie my shoes
Hide the bags in my eyes
Hold on. I've gotta go change into a dress.
Couldn't forget to curl my hair!
Umm, yea- nooo
(Also a chinois is a type of fine strainer.)
Gray Apr 4
I wish people worked like clocks
They can be tall
Short
Loud
Quiet
They can be digital
They can be old-fashioned
They can be dressed up
Or even a little bare
And when they break
You can tell
And you can fix them
And make them all better
BetTer PeoPle
Turn it back to a time
when you didn’t know what day it was
and still called me pretty.

Turn it back to a time
when we talked all night
and comforted each other.

Turn it back to a time
when I smiled
because of you.

Turn it back to a time
when I wrote long letters
to say I cared.

Turn it back to a time
when I didn’t send that out of anger
because I was left…

Turn it back to a time
when I didn’t say
that I didn’t want to be friends anymore.

Turn it back to a time
when I could walk into a room
and wouldn’t tremble at the sight of you.

Turn it back to a time
when I didn’t have to get info
about you from someone else.

Turn it back to a time
when I still saw you
everyday.

Turn it back to a time
when I still talked to you
everyday.

Turn it back to a time
when we had some trust
in each other.

Turn it back to a time
when I didn’t have to write things
to temporarily forget you.

If only I could turn back time.
Don’t we all wish that we could turn back time sometimes? (By the way, broken clocks is my fav song by SZA)
maya Mar 5
For however many petals I've picked,
For however many spells I've wicked,
For however many clocks I've ticked,
For however many needles I've pricked,
I still think about you.
I still think about you but not in the same sense.
To be merry in all things
Whether presence or absentia
Minding the countdown forever ticking
Before we force out our hysterias

Carrying through in unique stature
Alike in appearance and sounds
People don't mind the offset nature
We know to play off normality's grounds

What's more than a tapping to regular heads
Is the sound of a man's only sanity
Pulling away like loosened threads
Until he knows little more than calamity

Watch him brew and stir amok
From the sounds playing in his skull
Much like the ticking of a discorded clock
Time's run out for him to sulk and mull

Now, as he breaks, we watch with our sorrows
And keep them close by for safe-keeping
For we know that in the morrow
Will be another broken soul's last weeping

Sometimes we're broken beyond our own will
And to ourselves, we're regular, we're fine
But a man is not beyond the desire to kill
Whether it be passersby or his own mind

Tick, tick, tick, the countdown calls
And all of us heed its words
Barely audible or sensible, meaning nothing at all
But that's what gives it worth.
Between worlds,
The falling water,
The moving sphere,
Coming ever closer to destruction.

Between worlds,
The switching universes,
The rising atmosphere,
Moving slowly towards each other.

Between worlds,
The bending landscape,
The rotating clocks of life,
All dying with each other in chaos.
Vick Mandrake Feb 17
Why do clocks only toll on the hour
When I have to wake up at 7:15?
The train meets the station at 8:33
But the clock will not chime until 9
That's 27 minutes of anticipation
For what? It's sad, I find
That the clock only tolls
But once on the hour
And my appointment isn't 'till
The half
I've thought about changing the final line to "Till 8:45" (shifting "till" from the prior line) but I figured if I had to force a rhyme why not just drop it entirely
Mysidian Bard Dec 2017
My second hand heart
wants to turn back time
to that split second moment
when your hand was in mine.
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