Tick tock time is persistent
The moving hands feel resistant
Years fly by yet, hours crawl.
Sweating, pacing, wall to wall.
Flickering candles ease, and calm.
Scents of lavender, lilac, and balm.
Staring at the back of two eyelids
Images of you, my sanity outbids.
Endless cups of coffee, and cigarettes.
Endless wondering, quiet threats.
Standing higher, looking down.
Am I so small, I make no sound?
How many times can you wash a soul?
Before it shrivels up, and turns to coal.
Is Rock really bottom, I think not.
What is the definition of life's plot?