A person sits and cries
Knees together, holding her face
Lips quiver, and tears leak from cracks
Hide from the world
Not just a girl
But full grown
A woman, long

A clock clicks
Wordless in the night
It's not the precision preferred
Everything is not all right
It's face so pretty
Decorated with scrolls
Beautiful in architecture

It tells the time
But cannot really see inside
It's mind isn't shattered
It's still beautiful
Cogs, levers, springs and gears
It can only look at others
Knows something is wrong

It sees the world, all the other faces
Clocks themselves, faces hiding minds
Only hears the tick, click and tock
Sometimes it rains, humidity brings
Another tock, and knows it's off
Just one more tick
Make it work

One has to look past the face
See it's mind, complete
Not the pretty, but
Admire the precision
Mechanical beauty
Revenged emotional
Struggling time

Always trying so hard
Get through the hours
Minutes in seconds
Maybe it's ok, a little slow
A little fast, time makes time
Looking at clocks
Feeling only wrong

But it's the slow and fast
Moments between
When someday, it seems
That ticks and tocks
Patchwork healing
Shrugging, painful seconds
Keep perfect time

The other clocks
Faces hiding broken minds
Look to that grand Ol' tock
See only that it goes
Not its struggle
So in her hands
Tears slide down

Her woman's cheeks
All red, eyes puffy
A mind restrained
She hides her face, not
So all the other clocks
Can all go tick, tock
Click, whir

She only knows her
Ignoring the fact that
Her time is perfect
For everything he needs
Because the beauty of
Elegance is precession

His sense is timeless
Wonder not measured
For hours, creep
Minutes, tick
Seconds, wander
But altogether
She is everything

It hurts seeing your eyes fading into black.
The darkest of color blurrin your burning pits of blues.
Red rim lashes,
And tears catching the glare.

It hurts.
But mostly it's saddening.

He whistles round the corner
it's that time of day.
The nine to five has ended
and now it's time to play.
His lunchbox in his pickup truck
had been equipped with more then food.
The liquor store was the next stop
but not the fix for his mood.

Come six o clock he's made it home
and had a chance to eat.
By eat I mean drink his ***
finally kicks back his feet.
Day three without a shower
because there's no one to impress.
Half the time wearing yesterdays clothes
forgetting to undress.

By seven he's watching Wheel of Fortune
screaming slurs at the TV.
Never guessing puzzles right
and finding need to disagree.
His phones been off the hook for days
beeping in the distance.
Come Jeopardy the urge is strong
with more and more persistence.

He grabs the bag of goodies
holds it in his hand.
Getting excited by just the feel
of the syringe and rubber band.
He's sweating now profusely
anxious with desire.
With nothing left to lose (but life)
again he plays with fire.

Your whitelight flashes the frost to-night
Moon of the purple and silent west.
Remember me one of your lovers of dreams.

A mood as dark as a winters midnight
Haltingly adrift, she is rudderless
Bound to a coastal route
As she nears the quay, she cries out
But emits no sound
As strong currents
Guide her soul
To deeper depths
And perils
Where light has no importance
A salient angle away and afar
She collapses in upon herself, like the Black Hole
Black does not describe its murkiness
She is lost to humanity