Sometimes I feel like the hands of a clock

Always rushing down, down, down

Falling into that deep, bottomless pit –

Called “Time” –

Something that used to be mine.

Protests chime like discordant bells

But I bite firmly on my tongue

And leave my bitter opinions

To myself.

You see tears of anger

But my eyes do not burn red.

They only blaze a solemn blue

Where nothing matters in them –

Not even me.

For the days upcoming,

I drag my legs on the ticking ground,

As it shrinks beneath my feet

And I give you the greatest gift of all –

Silence.