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
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 –