With cruel intentions the clock shows 8,
Hands suspended in air,
In space.
With little remorse the clock shows 7.
Reversing its course,
Playing with my mind, my sanity.
Quarter after 6
My world is lost, my hope abandoned.
Crying...trying...
To get back on track, and set in motion what never stopped to begin with.
I've lost a day, hanging onto my life.
Contrails of gray clinging to the hands, like strings on a balloon.
Not really there.
Visible lose, the clock ticks 4.
Wasted time carries no burden.
If I can do it all over again.