The Crimson Clock


United States
42° 2' 3.7212" N, 71° 34' 41.988" W

Calm and low the engine hummed,
Singing its incessant tune,
As they glided down the road,
Under the placid moon.

The street was bare and dimly lit,
Their headlights fierce the black,
The swaying trees their only companions,
Their comfort they'll never get back.

"All you do is complain," he said,
"You're never satisfied."
"You're always with your friends," she said
"Why can't you ever make time?"

"Why make time for this," he said
"We never get along."
"I can't believe this happened" she said,
"Where did we go wrong?"

"You're the one to blame," he said,
"With all my heart, I hate you."
"You're not worth my time," she said,
And replied "I hate you too."

At that moment there was a bang,
A snap, a shatter, a shock,
Shards of glass fell at their feet,
They became a crimson clock.

He could tell their time was running low,
As the crimson filled the cracks,
To whom the blood belonged unknown,
It covered their vengeful tracks.

The roof contorted far enough,
Her face just out of sight,
So he made his way outside of the wreck,
Into the crimson night.

Among the flashing blue and red,
A struggling shadow emerged,
He came along, right by her side,
Like a wounded, sullen bird.

In a fading voice he said to her,
"With all my heart, I love you,"
And just before she slipped away,
She confessed, "I love you too."


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