Waiting.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Clocks dance, but time stays still.
The mouse runs, but his hole in the wall is farther still.
The cat chases him, gets closer and closer,
But even the villain can’t reach his prey.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
On the sofa, there sits a girl.
She cheers on the cat, but god only knows it is she who is the mouse.
Trying to reach their destination,
But hope is lost.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Enters a man, face of obscurity,
But angry with time.
He picks a fight, yells, shouts, screams,
But the girl knows not what for.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The grandfather clock paces back and forth,
Restless with fear.
For they bellow and shriek without cause,
And without end.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The eternal scramble of a small household,
The internal workings of a young mind.
Natural, it seems. Perhaps even safe.
But families divide. Minds deceive.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The girl abandons her sofa and slams the door,
Running toward a close friend.
But she has no one.
Running toward an uncertain end.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
