ceaseless ticking

Something’s wrong with my clock,

And it just won’t stop.

It won’t stop… It won’t stop.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop…Stop.

When I get there,

To where I must be,

It’s too late.

They slip so quick from my hands

Because they’re already ghosts by then

…Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

The dials — they won’t turn,

Too stubborn to listen to the forces of my hands.

My fingers just keep slipping,

Unwilling to hear what I say.

It won’t stop.It won’t stop.

There’s disruption

From my brain, to my body, to the clock.

Static that ceases sensation

Sounds so much like screams.

Running.Running.

Running. Running.

Chasing those hands that keeps running.

And I stop. Stop. Stop.

Trying to catch my breath,

But at the loss of the hand that ticks ticks away.

Each step marches into the static —

Meaningless.

Stop. Stop.

Run. Run.

The lesson — I won’t learn.

Just keeps tick ticking on.

I scream.

I claw my way through the black and white haze.

Stop. Stop.

Stopstopstopstopstop.

But instead.

I’m in static.