tick tick tick
the time passes by
hear the numbers click
and a distant sigh
a man with uneven hands
when it's dark he whispers "3"
too anxious to leave or stand
bed-ridden by what's wrong with me
a few hours in the morning
four more in the afternoon
you're so selfish, anxiety
how much of me belongs to you?
I'd say a bit clingy as well
though only time will tell
how long you're here to stay
but even the clocks know
I'll overcome you one day.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Quiver
Poesíaa place where I've written my feelings when I felt them. it has become a story of depression and recovery, love and loss, hope and fear, and everything in-between. mostly poetry, sometimes stories. :)
