/ / W A R N I N G : DOMESTIC VIOLENCE / /
Time is free; time is fleeting
Every moment longer in this world your heart, your body, your spirit, takes a beating.
The clock strikes twelve, and it begins
As a familiar face is contorted with an unfamiliar grin.
The clock strikes one
You try to crawl away, too terrified to run.
The night is eerily silent as it comes to two
You fear, more than death, what is due.
As the hand comes down, past the three
Another comes down upon your knee.
With a heavy heart, you limp past four
Never receiving love, only scores.
Open wounds, you bleed through five
Only the salty tears streaking down your face proving you're alive.
With a harrowing chime, the clock strikes six
As more, more, and more is thrown into the mix.
Even the sun seems to be afraid, hiding behind the clouds even at seven
A part of you wonders if you died, would you go to heaven?
As the world begins to wake, it turns eight
And you already know your fate.
It seems like it's been hours, but it's finally nine
Death at this point would be divine.
Into the bed, now it's ten
You decide that you despise men.
The clock seems sorry; its echoing toll reminding you it's eleven
And at some point, between the minutes, you catch a glimpse of a bren.
Time seems to slow again and once again it's twelve
And a cold barrel is put to your head to quell.
/ / E N D / /
YOU ARE READING
Of Sixes and Sevens
诗歌to be of sixes and sevens means to be in a state of confusion and disarray. a collection of poems by a person who has been stuck like this for a while. highest ranking: #411 in Poetry / / all rights reserved. do not reproduce or transmit in any for...
