There was a silver clock hanging by a thread.
And it Ticked, and Tocked-
It never stopped.
You see, I stared, waiting for an explanation,
While the tides rolled,
And the Sun died,
Along with it: Time.
Oh, it must be such a faraway dream,
Left only for misery...
That is why I experienced chills,
A sweeping sensation of horror that fills
'Till death made near
What was that feeling... fear?
Yes, it crashed over me
And I wanted only to be free-
But, no, no, I was trapped.
Hung by my neck, bent
Haunted by tempt...
Darkness, here- there!
All the while...
Tick, Tock.
Tick, Tock
Darkness then spread across the globe.
I watch the clock...
Tick and Tock.
Hearing shouts and cries-
People calling my name.
And I stare at the clock hanging by a thread.
They cry and beg,
Yelling for help
But... I watch the clock,
As it Ticks and Tocks.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of the Broken
PoesiaThere are voices that cannot be drowned, and writings that cannot be burned. That is because they have found worse and have slowly learned. And this is true. From them, comes the Collection of the Broken.
