Day: Aug 21, 2020

Living on the edge of an astronomical clock turning backwards.

The time isn’t real, nor is the space – we’re simply bad actors.

Leaping through the worst past and present can offer, spinning

Back into my oblivion patched with torn memories, singing,

Re-enacting old scenes while the hour hand’s draining me to the bone.

Might feel obscene to these petty people living in their heads

All alone.

But I go up the minute hand, I chase the escape wheel and fall –

Hanging in the flow of the time by a blue thread, dirty and small.

Jumping after each palm reached out to me but I’m somehow missing.

My spine is rubbing into another manipulated reason to stop hissing

And get back to giving all my warm blankets to those who bow

So low to see the last inch of hope leaving the body I liked years back

But now barely know.

I cling to the second hand, almost being ripped in two by the heat.

The change of algorithm is washing my brain of sins and of greed.

Running up the hill of no escape, right up to the promised rope –

You might think I’ll make a noose but by know you must know

I’m not a trope

And I’d rather tie the ends together to keep my own brain intact

Than give you another graveyard fairy-tale of a ghoul eating the hero of my favorite tale

In the second act.