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Shelby Azilda May 2013
The clock slowly ticks, ticking ticking ticking,
As time has come to a stop.
All we can hear is the ticking,
The ticking of the broken clocks.

We'll be lost in forever, over and over
Repeating our lives.
Memories are spilling over,
Hey, remember that time?

We met by accident,
Serendipity you could say.
I liked the way your eyes shined,
As you smiled that day.

But one problem led to another,
Nights blended into days.
What's the difference between midnight,
And the middle of the afternoon?

The clocks tick away the memories,
Tick Tick tick...

We dance across the realities,
Laugh at our lives.
We act so happily,
As our dreams are torn with time.

The clocks are ticking...
Every second is another year.
Everything was okay,
Everything began to disappear.

Hey do you remember?
Do you?
"Do I remember?
I can't say that I can..."

The clock slowly ticks, ticking, ticking, ticking...
And my memories of you begin to fade.
All I can remember is the ticking,
Our lives ticking away...
Tick tick tick...

Who are you?
I wrote this poem a few years ago on deviantArt; originally it was called As The Clock Ticks. I decided to edit it a bit today.
The clock is ticking,
Time to go,
You better hurry up

Ticking, ticking,
Ticking, ticking,
It's never going to stop

Keep hold of your memories,
Never let them go,
If they are gone,
Time moves on,
And you forget your past

You've no need to know where you're going,
Only where you've been,
Keep running,
Don't let time catch up

Run away,
The clock is ticking,
Ticking, ticking,
Faster every day

Please keep going,
Don't look back,
It'll all be over soon

Ticking, ticking,
Ticking, ticking,
It's all over now
Lotus Oct 2012
Within the enclosed
Walls of the
Windowless cell
Huddled in the corner
A man sits motionless

The coldness of the
Damp brick walls
Around him
Creep through his
Sweaty skin
Clogging the pores
Causing a fever

No window
Breaks the brick walls
Of the dwarf sized cell
No light
Just darkness
Ensnare the space
Around the cross-legged man

He feels his eyes
Will soon go blind
From the choked
Layer upon thick layer
Of blackness

He feels his skin
Will solidify
Into a frozen fever
Of cold
All the blood and veins
Slowly turning to crusts of nothing

These are terrible

Terrible as the jingle of
The key’s click
Meaning the door is locked
Not to be opened
Until his executioner
Decides is right

Terrible as the moment
He caught his last
Glimpse of the sun’s beams
Gifting the outside world with
Simple happiness

But neither of these
Could amount to
The horrifying
Sound of a single
Clock’s steady
Ticking away the minutes
And hours remaining of his life

The man sits
Sits and sits
Never moving
His ears are continuously
Invaded with this
How will he survive?

What seem
To be weeks pass
And he sits
In that same corner
On the edge of madness

And soon
He understands
To fall in love
With this sound
Is the key

He listens now
And soon
In place of the
The man in the
Windowless cell
Hears music

Soon an orchestra
Of deep fathomless cello
Smooth whispering piano
Melancholy violin
Echoes throughout the
Tunnels of this man’s ears

With music his companion
This man
Cross-legged in the corner
Of the windowless cell
Smiles to the
Through his sorrows
Jayesh Nov 2019
A clock has ticked⁣
For longer than I've known ⁣
Small sounds,⁣
Ones I've left ignored ⁣

They've been there⁣
Through it all ⁣
Silent companions ⁣
Ticking ticking ticking ⁣

It may have been simpler⁣
If they had remained so⁣
Accompanying travelers⁣
Treading along their own pace ⁣

I know not ⁣
When they began to slow⁣
a subtle change,⁣
Yet, one I couldn't help notice ⁣
Ticking ticking⁣

I felt them⁣
Crawling up⁣
Feeling them, truly ⁣
New faces, though somehow familiar ⁣

They soon began to still⁣
Settling into me⁣
Pinpricks portruding out⁣
Drawing out their own gore⁣
Ticking ⁣

Quite it's on pacemaker⁣
Counting down ⁣
To a demise, of sorts ⁣
One I can't ignore⁣
Atleast, not anymore ⁣

A beat with its own rhythm
Under it's own rule
Johnny walker Mar 2019
The clocks stopped ticking
the day she went away
no longer did I have awareness of time
when the clock
The clock stopped ticking for me the day I laid a single red rose on her grave that was the
the clock
The clock has stopped ticking for me no longer
do care about time
don't know
date or the
don't even know the month we're In, for the clock has stopped ticking for the last for me the day
I left a single red rose on
a rose that
The clock stopped ticking for me the day I laid a single red does on Helen's grave
Im a ticking timebomb...
Beep beep beep
Any minute the emotions go...
Causing disturbance and watching it.....flow...
Beep beep beep
Each second the time goes down...
Im a ticking timebomb...
Beep beep beep
On one point ready to blow...
17... 16... 15...
The time slowly ticking down...
I fear as though my time is short...
Im a ticking timebomb...
Beep beep beep
Any minute the emotions go...
14... 13... 12...
My time is almost up...
I fear I won't say goodbye...
11... 10... 9...
I am a ticking time bomb...
Beep beep beep
Trying to stop my fuse....
8... 7... 6...
To find my life was a blast...
Time to sit back and give up...
5... 4... 3...
Its time for me to say my final goodbye....
2... 1...
I am a ticking time bomb...
Beep beep beep
On an endless trail of death although my life is short it was worth it...
I am a ticking time bomb...
Here to say I'm sorry...
The poem I am a ticking time bomb refers to the life of us slowly living our life slowly and in the end as we hit our last breath of air we apologize for all the wrong that we've done in our life.
The ticking of the clock
It's so annoying
It makes me shift
It drives me crazy

It always makes me wonder
When I'll be able to leave
The ticking of the clock
It's an agony

Why are you always here?
Here to bother me
The ticking of the clock
Thinks I'm full of pity

You were always there
And I didn't know why
The ticking of the clock
Cared for me and cried

Just as I was getting used to it
Day by day
The ticking of the clock
Turned slowly and walked away

I would always wish you gone
The room's now silent
But what I would give
To have the clock rewinded

You'll never know how much important someone is until you've lost him/her.
Mirlotta May 2015
Standing in the shadows is a lonely clock that's painted red
Made from blood and carved from bone - a clockwork core that's cold like lead.
A convoluted clockmaker sits wizened by its feet
He sits and thinks, nods and knows, the clock will not its maker meet.
He tells himself he's but an ember, tells his clock it will tick on
Wrapped in black like black's in fashion, with no heart save pendulum.
He knows the clock is icy fire, if he, the maker, is its spark
He looks upon his ticking beast and knows his hand has made its mark.
He lets his clock keep ticking, never stopping, won't tell why,
And its maker curls up on the floor; his final breaths are whimsic sighs.
His lonely clock keeps ticking, ticking, ticking - ticking, ticking still,
Standing regal in the shadowed room, but bending to its maker's will.
aar505n Apr 2014
Green walls and a monotone ticking inside my heart.
The ticking keeping everything from falling apart,
Continuous monotonous ticking.
A reminder of time passing,
of life moving on, but not me.
I am frozen in this green room,
aware of it all but stuck here.
Wanting you near,
Wanting but never getting.
All I get is a sad sigh as I listen to the ticking in my heart.
Manda Nov 2015
Ticking karma on the wall
far across your soulless eyes,
in the dimmed of sadness in the past memories
haunted people for their reckless mouth

Ticking karma on the wall
watched every steps that you take
swam in the deepest of your sane daydream
waiting for your guts down and weak

Ticking karma on the wall
there wasn't a loner yet a pathetic body
you are just an old time harbor
and they are the ships

There was a ticking karma on the wall,
and all you can do is just watching them come and go.
Craig Harrison Jan 2014
Ticking and tocking
ticking and tocking
watching the clock as it's ticking and tocking.
Every second that ticks on by, my time is running out
time to repent
time to be forgiven
and time to start over

The clock is ticking and tocking like it always does
a constant reminder my time is running out
no more years or months
no more weeks or days
no more hours or minutes only seconds remain

Ticking and tocking
Austin Heath Apr 2014
If I turn back the hands on a clock

it changes nothing, lately.

Nothing really said to my face.

No good-byes at least.

What is the rest of this then?

Ticking, talking of ideas I don’t

comprehend or understand?

Ticking, walking down the same path

with more ferocity, less inherent guilt?

Ticking, shocking that all along

I was worse than the measure of

all these “sins” and confessions.

Ticking, locking myself inside and waiting

Armageddon or Apocalypse.
Josh Murphy Mar 2014

One day I'll have nothing,
To spend my time on.
Because I'll explode,
Like a ticking time bomb.
Sjr1000 Feb 2018
Aging is confusing
How old would you be
if you didn't know how old you are

Microwave ovens
Kitchen range timers
Updates too
Timers all around ticking down
ticking down our time
You might think of this
as you make your rounds

Good morning

5 minutes to go
Forty seconds
I know

Ding goes the timer
Another day is done

I guess in the end
five four three two one.
How old would you a Satchel Paige quote, he was an ageless pitcher, actually no one knew how old he really was, legend has it he pitched well into his sixties
Em Dec 2014
is a breath never released
suffocation of the lungs
and the whole of your mind
is a clock
that never stops ticking
with the constant click, from past to present
Time never ends
and oh darling
nor does anxiety.
I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.
September Roses May 2018
Hot chocolate no longer tastes like chocolate

Tea gets me as drunk as wine

I get about as high on cannabis as I would rosemerry or thyme

The clocks in my house have stopped ticking

Though I never stop to check

There's a litter of stray kittens, outside my door, on the front step

Although time has stopped passing
And the gods have fallen asleep

I still find myself laughing
That I've wept to much to weep
Ive had a few people wonder.
Its limbo
Rockie Feb 2015




The clocks
Are ticking

Tick, tick, ticking
Your life away

Your fate;

Your death;

Your breath

Your heart rate;

Your clock;
r Aug 2013
I remember well
The creaking of
One hundred year old
Pine planked floor
And the ticking
Of the 100 year old clock
In my family's old home
Before the highwaymen
Took it with the widening
Of Highway 91
But Mom got her new house
Set back just a little
She loves it and new amenities
At least they didn't steal the barn
Or clock
But I miss the creaking and the ticking
Of my childhood home
On Highway 91
Across from Stoney Creek
My real home
A clock ticks time by tirelessly
Gears winding like twines of string
With quaint clicking quickly quieting
Until finally time stands still

Broken glass of a smooth clock face
Gears halting in deformity
Glistening shards like the sands of time
Ceasing in their downward flight

A once beating ticking heart of life
Now is lost within a sleepless night
Once a momentum to continued light
Now falls to the ringing silence's might

Time broken into shattered deaths
Until there is simply nothing left
Maybe you've guessed; my nightstand clock broke. It's not like it was an antique that belonged to my great grandmother or anything. Oh wait....
Seb Garcia Oct 2010
I enjoy this moment,
the moment in which,
the only thing I hear,
is the ticking of the keyboard.

The ticking of my heart,
being crystalized for others,
to read and to observe,
like an open book,
not for just one person,
but for the whole world to see.

The ticking of my mind,
as my creativity and boundaries,
are stretched to its peak,
and I paint a picture,
on the white canvas,
of my hellopoetry page,
with these colorful words.

The ticking of my soul,
because when I write,
I feel that is the moment,
when I am whole.
SG Holter Oct 2016
Norwegian Autumn.
Black as voids.
Leafless trees.
Sunlessness. All
Slightly alien still,
After all these years in
A country you never
Grew up in.

My hand is a shield
Upon your Dark Season
Fatigue. Energy to spare.
Sharing fire. Here:
My coat is your blanket,
Scarf your pillow.
Sleep safe, little sister.
Summer is where the heart

I'll never lose you to
Winter, or his
Dark and windy sibling.
Ear to my chest, hear the
Ticking of time.
Ticking of time. Ticking of
Time until Love.
Ashley Lopez Aug 2014
It's like hearing the ticking of a time bomb
But not able to find where it’s coming from  
Until you put your hand to your chest
And then you realize
That the bomb is your heart
And the tick, ticking
Remi Leroy Mar 2017
I look into the night sky.
The clock is ticking.
The moon is sleeping.
I am waiting.

A little girl with a pure kind heart,
messed around a little too much.
The clock is ticking and I wait
for the moment the little girl change.

The little girl will become strong and kind
and valiant and fine.
Though deep inside she might still be shy,
a strong front she will put outside.
The clock is ticking and the time has come.

It is twelve of the very next day,
which many years back in a small white room,
the little girl was born in a pair of arms so warm
and laughter and tears coloured the room.
A smiling father with an exhausted mother,
but everyone in the room was celebrating,
for this very day many years back,
the girl reading this was born.

The clock is ticking.
The moon is gleaming.
The clouds are floating.
The dreams are living.
I am writing.

The clock is ticking and I say
I love you
and I will never regret having you in my life
and I wish you will always be happy on this day every year
because the clock never stops ticking
and people never stop changing.

But today is the day we celebrate the little girl who has changed
in ways big or small,
good of bad,
drastic or subtle.
We celebrate because
I love you.
*We love you.
Simon Clark Aug 2012
Like a teacher marking a register,
Ticking away,
Like the devil taking life,
Ticking away,
Like a soldier praying for peace,
Ticking away,
Away, ticking away.
written in 2008
Undesignated Feb 2012
the clock ticking
our hearts beating
the pens tapping
our brains dreaming
the feet stomping
our hands joining
the bell ringing
our hearts pounding
the lips kissing
our faces flushing
the feeling impulsing
our love increasing
the bell ringing
our lips separating
the clock ticking
While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a rapping.
A loud rap rapping on my chamber door, the noise of the latch
click clicking, I heard above the clock tick ticking, then the creak
of the boards, the squeak of the nails, across my chamber floor.
And in the darkness with eyes flick flicking and the noise in my
head of the latch click clicking, and the clock in the hall still
tick, tick ticking; came the noise of his boots kick, kick kicking!
What thought I with eyes still  flicking with the sound in my head
of the clock tick ticking, and the ache and the pain from his boots
kick kicking!  Why me?
Then a punch to my face, my face to his knee, then my eyes stop
flicking. No sound anymore, no more of the clock tick ticking,
Only the creak of the boards and the squeak of the nails across
my chamber floor.  Then the sound of the latch click clicking;
no tapping or rapping, no eyes flick flicking, no, no more kicking.
Only the darkness, the slam of the door.  Then the clock tick tick,
ticking, no more creaking of the floor.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I lay there wondering and
fearing; I just cant take this anymore!
Taken from the raven by (Edgar Allen Poe) My take on mindless domestic violence against women.
Xavier Low Apr 2018
Time is ticking
As you distance from me,
I can’t seem to take any more steps
For nailed into my feet are weights that I can’t seem to shake lose
Blown into my head are the ashes of a recent past
I cough at the taste of burnt paper,
as my vision waters at the remains of photopaper
Time is ticking and seconds never slow
I sense your arms slipping from mine,
but these bridges seem far too unstable
This mouth is far too cautious to even mumble,
In fear that the slightest vibration would send us free falling
But alas time is ticking, and its minutes are running

But although I am mouse,
I am not without my gifts
For I have decided
That I will give you an unnoticeable gift
The gift of eternal life.
As my mind maffles the words to say,
My hands that will etch each recollection into concrete
A timeless string, moments frozen into snow globes
Regardless of how the finale is written,
I have bookmarked every page till the end of time
Know that your swords have allowed this mouse to roar
Know that your shield has given a blanket of comfort
Hours are now zooming by, sunset after sunset.

I silently but clearly dedicate this to you
The one who shall never see the truth
Perhaps one day you would realise that
Metallic hearts feel and rocks breathe too
Listen carefully to what the cave echoes and you would notice the whispers I have so bravely let slip my mind

Behind these ear-shattering ticks,
Do you not see all that bleeds from the cold?
Do you not see the circles I’ve escaped to hold you?
Who am I to judge for my vision has too been stripped from me
As I feel my way around darkness,
your lighthouse is my only salvation

Time has stopped ticking
As I stand in the embracing rain,
as droplets fall in synchrony
Used ink bottles laid all around
May I have this honour to pen future chapters,
Or will it all restart when time resets
Reminding me that it was all a mere fantasy,
And that a fool I was destined to be
TW Smith Dec 2013
Somewhere a clock is ticking
And your brother has passed.
His last words were your name.
He was afraid and in the dark
So he pulled the covers over his head,
Just to get away.

Somewhere a clock is ticking
And your father is gone.
He fought demons and diseases.
He lived in a hellhole for years
While you sought a bottle
Just to get away.

Somewhere a clock is ticking
But you'll never see them again.
It ticks off the years
And the grey in your hair,
It tells you to give in
Just to get away.
I Anonymous Feb 2018
the clock is ticking
and i am very afraid
afraid to live
in a world where i probably won't see my old age
in a world where nuclear war, global warming, and people killing innocent children is all the rage
for about a week
until the news has a new obsession to seek
the clock is ticking
and my heart should at the least drop in fear
when i hear that another massacre had occurred
with 17 victims. hashtag MSD strong
just give it a month, the news will move along
the clock is ticking
and at six years old we should not be reciting our abc's
as we hide where a bad man cannot see.
I thought that everybody was welcome at school
why can't the man with the toy gun can't come in too?
the clock is ticking
and what the hell is wrong with your generation?
instead of address the problem you train us to solve it by hiding under tables

if my friend can take one look at his campus and infer
in the event of an armed intruder,
the juniors would be the first to go
and uh oh there's no escape from the basement classrooms
because to them, the media is only fake news.
the clock is ticking
and i should be worrying about what i'm going to wear tomorrow
or if that boy i pass by in the halls will notice me
I should be staying up all night studying for chem
Instead of sobbing under my sheets at 1 AM
worrying if this day is going to be my last.
or if a gunman were to come he'll just walk past,
maybe forget why he's here or maybe he'll just disappear into thin air.
the clock is ticking
and i will not be silent.
because valentines are for chocolates and candy hearts
not the feeling of your soul get ripped apart
you knew this boy,
he might not have been your friend and to be honest you suspected
that he could be your end
the clock is ticking
and i will not be silent
because at concerts all you need to hear are beating drums
not the beating of your racing heart
as bullets reign from up in the sky, you sang of God only moments ago so why
is He punishing us like this?
The clock is ticking
And I will not be silent
because clubs are partying hard and spending the next morning in the bathroom
not cowering with 22 others in a bathroom stall
waiting for the gunfire to come to an end and you only came to have a nice night with your girlfriend
and you can't tell if this is her blood or yours
the clock is ticking
and the glass walls are shattering.
but my bullets are words
and i will not go down in silence.
Amanda Stoddard Oct 2015
My heartbeat ticks like a clock on most days
the pounding of my chest reminds me I don't have much time left
I start to wonder why being shaped like an hourglass is such a good thing.
We are always running out of time.
So much so that we don't even count when we reach a mile-
in high school they train you to keep time
but somehow you always end up running and running away from it.
Other kids shamed you for not completing the mile fast enough-
but your body thanked you for not pushing it so hard.
There are days when my alarm wakes me up before the sound comes
like my body somehow knows my time for sleep has ran out.
Things are constantly running away from me-
kind of like you.
I try to slow down the hands to this clock
but as yours wrap around my waist
it only speeds things up for me
because I no longer pay attention to the sound of my heartbeat.
Yours is the only ticking I can hear on those days.
I find myself using too many metaphors
and not enough alliteration or sibilance-
or any other methods of poetry for that matter.
I am too busy organizing these thoughts too quickly
so they do not run too fast away from me.
My mind is something I'm always trying to catch-
trying to keep these emotions in order and on cue
so I don't run out of time with you.
But somehow I end up losing it,
all of it and I am on the brink of insanity again
because how can you feel secure
when you don't know how much time you are wasting
I do not want to waste all this time with you.
If I am just another hour on this clock of your life
it will be the best **** hour you will ever encounter
because the rest of mine are spent trying to place
these emotions that have run out on me.
Spent trying to learn how to keep time,
how to keep them in mind
how to not let them change who I am again.
But see these emotions are not an alarm clock-
they are a pop quiz
an erupting volcano that has been dormant for years,
a hurricane you knew was coming but you weren't sure when,
an hour of detention that goes by so painfully slow
you contemplate your entire life.
These emotions don't come every other sunday-
they don't become planted in the soil inside of me
and sprout when I water them.
They are the dust that collects under your bed
from the particles of your skin-
and you don't know they are there
until you clean out the things you've been meaning to for a while.
My life is all metaphor and not enough logistics.
Not enough order and routine-
the only thing keeping me is time
and the dust has settled again.
It had rested in the lining of my lungs
and sits in the bridge of my nose-
it won't be long until it collects and overflows
and I am dealing with the consequences of not keeping
this life in order, in detail, I made no room for cleanliness.
There is no freedom inside of this mess,
inside of this wristwatch that will not leave
even when I try to cut it off.
The ticking of the clock is all I hear-
it aligns perfectly with the sound of my heartbeat.
I fear it will stop ticking
I fear I will stop feeling
I fear this heart will stop beating.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Sean Critchfield May 2014
Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.

I'll take them.

All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.

Give them to me.
I will take them.

Give them to me.

They are wanted here.

All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.

Give them to me.

And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.

Let me have them.

And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.

I will take them.

And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.

Let me have them.

And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.

Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.

Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:

“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”

“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”

“You were all my brightest colors.”

“I wish I were more like you.”

“I wish I were less like me.”

“I am sped.”

And we will read them at dawn like litany.

Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.

That we may take them.

And make a blanket.

A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.

I will take them.

All the parts you no longer want.

Give them to me.

Because they are what make us beautiful.

Give them to me.

That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.

That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.

Give them to me.
I will take them.

Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.
This was a birthday gift to myself. I am giving it to you.
Erika Nov 2014
Oh, darling.
Isn’t it ironic how the time is after us?
As if it wants to be noticed
As if it gives us a clue
The clock is ticking
Keeps on ticking and it hurts my ears
As if it wants us to say goodbye

Oh dear,
How I wish I could spend no time with you.
Not because I do not love you,
but because I do not want to spend my time
just to say goodbye to you.

Marco Buschini Dec 2016
Lie within chaos, and create comfort
In visions of endless love.
Riding slowly on the crest of a morning fling, and flutter,
The body stutters
Like a street dancer.
Shine in different directions
And end the yearning
For a love of creativity
By stripping off
And darting
Into a sea of uncertainty,
with a sense of
Unimaginable lust for what keeps you
Ticking like a sturdy clock.
Find the rhymes that combine
With what lies inside the mind,
To stumble upon the future pleasure,
That you unearth with delight,
As you wonder.
Inspiration is born out of desire.
Fuel to fire the birth of creation.
The mind quakes for a taste
Of the cake, that is blessed with greatness.
Igorgoldkind Oct 2017
My heart is ticking like a bomb,
Beaten like a dusty rug,
Still ticking like a bomb.
Unbroken, unwavering
But ticking like a bomb
Not unbruised
Not yet fatally wounded
Still  ticking like a bomb
My heart is....
Strong but not hard.
And ticking like a bomb
Safe in its own discontent.
My heart is...ticking like a bomb.

— The End —