Whispers of the Soul

Anxiety

The Clock's Relentless Tick

In the stillness of the room, a clock starts to chime,
Each tick a reminder, a thief of my time.
Its hands creep forward, a steady parade,
While inside my chest, a storm starts to invade.

Tick—time slips through my fingers like grains of sand,
Each moment a countdown, too heavy to stand.
The seconds stretch long, a taut, fragile line,
Each heartbeat a metronome, echoing my mind.

Panic whispers loudly, a thief in the night,
As the clock's relentless ticking brings shadows to light.
A voice in the silence, it calls out my name,
Filling the void with its pressure and blame.

What if I fail? What if I choke?
With every tick forward, my confidence broke.
The weight of the minutes, they press on my soul,
A tempest of worries, taking their toll.

Each second that passes, a battle in me,
As urgency spirals, drowning in sea.
The clock keeps on ticking, as if in a race,
A timer for moments that vanish without trace.

I glance at the hands; they move far too fast,
Time slipping away, the present, a ghost of the past.
The walls close around me, the air thick as tar,
With each ticking second, I'm trapped in a jar.

I breathe in, I breathe out, but the rhythm feels wrong,
As the clock's hollow echo plays its somber song.
I close my eyes tightly, wishing it mute,
But the tick-tock persists, relentless, acute.

Yet somewhere within, a flicker of light,
A whisper of courage that fights through the night.
I'll challenge the clock, reclaim my own pace,
For I am not captive; I'll find my own space.

With each tick that echoes, I'll learn to let go,
Embrace the stillness, and soften the flow.
Time may feel heavy, but I'll rise and resist,
For in every heartbeat, there's hope to persist.