tick tock

first 
I walk

tick tock

then 
I run
tick tock

when
the world
comes
crashing
down
around me

tick tock

I stop
tick tock

as the fiery

inferno
of oblivion

tick tock
swallows me

tick tock

I am
forgotten

tick tock

a single star
in the abbys

of a universe

tick tock

times
up

I gavel a wooden grave
,For my infancy set my
Golden sun over the fields
Of repetitive sirens milling
In my head and tipping
Scales of a blinded saint.

Order , order be proclaimed
Innocence is to be adjourned
And sent to preliminary trials
where I constantly seem
To look up at minerals
Smiling at flashing lights
With a chain of mediocrity
Like a noose around my neck
Declaring the plausibilty
Of my golden thread!!

Every tick and tock
I break away to
Dabble in the dark arts
Of marketing humanity
And turning my eyes
Into shop windows
...-Display cases to sell
My soul to the masses.

Order! I strike down in an attempt
To order myself to order!!
Confess your sins upon the Lord!!
My hand burns strikingly
Into charcoal on the light
Word of a guiding shepard.

Order lies with honour, my
Leash prevents me from
Tassled pillows and applause
And eradicates the whispers
Of order in my infernal mind

Guilty as charged ,to life
With abscence of parole
And good it be
If searching for love
Naked cuffs be
Then maybe this life
Is not for me

Draw your verdict on
The tangy taste of my hide
As you pleasure yourself
At the sight of my downfall
Into an endless abbys of
Doing wrong things in
search of the monogamous
Right

how do you turn a heartbreak into poetry?

1. you let your overflowing emotions fill your abbys to the brim until all you can do left is pick up a pen and let the ink stain the pages with memories and thoughts.

2. you burn all the pictures (and all the gifts he has ever given you) with the fuel in your veins that has kept the flame in your heart burning for so long.

3. you replace your dreams with thoughts and you lay awake in your bed because sleeping means dreaming and it hurts too much to see him in your dreams.

4. you smile and pretend you have the whole world in your hands because you do, even if it is just an atom of it. it counts.

5. you pick up the broken pieces and stitch them back together with late night dreams and morning poetry (because no one else would bother to fix you)

I might never meet another you,
But be just a friend is something I couldn't do,
Now my heart is sour and blue,
For what I thought was well knit needed glue,
In such haste a light wind blew,
And alas pieces of my heart flew,
Into an existence of a dark abbys which my future claims it never knew,
For there, the pieces will lie on a dry patch that never knew dew.