(he seemed happier,
i swear,
when i wasn’t there)

and the wedge between our friendship
will never really leave
and the One Who Invited Himself
will tell his friends that i’m a *****
make a life lesson out of me
to his children
foolish boy

don’t you know your love is waiting for you
and that sometimes nothing can be said
or done
and that love can’t be forced
or, in a way that makes sense,
talked about ?

the watch in your pocket
keeps ticking
moving forward
the world turns
while you're lost

often the words
the caution and hate
about villains and demons
trickle through

"their goal is to hurt"
they say
of those others in the shadows
but what do you do
when you find yourself
in the darkness


it's still ticking.

TIME has so much power and say on our day to day.
It tells us if we are early or late.
If we should be hired or fired.
Determines if we're morally correct or socially incorrect.
Our definition of TIME is far from perfect.
TIME is a song that has your radio station infected.
Can't change the station, can't escape it.
"Ugh! I hate this song!!!" singing along

We are the dysfunctional orchestra,
the composers of this catchy tune.
Composed by the abused watches we wear,
the guilty murderer clocks we hang on our walls
and by our notorious digital clocks in our phones.

Our favorite dance partner is 'Father Time'.
Dancing to the ticking and tocking.
Grooving at the speed of gears turning.
Steady rhythm; never speeding or slowing.


TIME does not exist, TIME keeping does. Oh silly humans......
measuring something that does NOT exist.

Clock is ticking.
Midnight texting.
Could be relaxing.
Words are flowing.
Mind is showing.
Thoughts keep going.
Time for sleeping.
I say good night.
And sweet dreaming.

Ten to Eleven.
Eleven to Twelve.
Twelve to just One.
He closes his eyes and hopes for a masterpiece
yet only he understands the pain of the pen.
Those late nights under the light of the lamp fire
nocturnal writing like a literary vampire
The cramp in his hand is definitely a price worth paying.
he writes what he dreamingly sees but is seemingly free
from the outside world.
But what he does write will remain on a page
longer than he will remain on this planet.
A perpetual shell with remnants
That will forever be his companion.
The page is our best friend.

I can hear my watch ticking,
I never noticed it before.
Every thought I think keeps sticking,
on my brain, on my mind, on the walls.

It's rarely silent in this house,
but when it is, it isn't good.
Gets me thinking, freaks me out,
puts me in a terrible mood.

If I keep thinking,
I'll start sinking,
it won't take too long.
Weighted memories pull me down,
and remind me I'm not strong.

It's a cold December,
but I remember,
the days of sun and smiles,
the days we drove for miles,
but now they're gone and they're not coming back.

Because the past is the past,
and it's in the rear view mirror for a reason.
The future holds a brand new path,
and gives me something to believe in.

they say "the good die young."*

       *must i wait much longer before i decide i'm not good ?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock

Can you hear it?
It's beautiful...

Some can only continue to live in their sanity,
Others **** for their piece of mind,
And whilst I live to save humanity,
Am I killing what's most hard to find?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock

I can still hear it,
Can't you?
It won't stop,
I don't think it ever will,
But still,
It continues,

Why must you go on?
I'm too far behind,
It's almost like your gone,
Because again,
You're simply hard to find,
If only I knew you were right in front of me,
I wouldn't be so lost,

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock*

Do you hear that?
It just keeps on ticking,
No, not the clock,
Not this time,
There's another...

What time is it?