My brittle mind groans.
The clock patiently reaches around for it's hands
While mine scribble, dazed
In the fake toobright light.
Time doesn't fly, it slumps, like an old man dragging his feet,
Measured in words now.
Counting up the seconds to sunrise or bed
And the end of my self-inflicted endeavour.
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@TCMercury
Occasional poet and half-hearted story author based in the UK. Beware modernism and haiku! Critiques welcome.
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