Am I A Slave to Time?

The passing of time
Is not flawless
Minutes on the hour
Can be torturous
The ticking in the air
Is never serendipitous
The movement of my hand
Or a voice incredulous
Changes wavelengths
Can contort heart rates
Its when the sunshine dissipates
Darkness encroaches
And sometimes sets fate
That I am most afraid
Fear my breath is stolen
Depression lingers and waits
For if my guard sets down
The devil somehow anticipates
My weakened and fragile state
The clock on the mantle
The watch on my wrist
Simultaneously dictates
The very existence I emulate
Much to my dismay
The second hand has now
Made me a slave
I cannot count the seconds
Left in my life
But clearly
By all accounts
They are for whatever reason
Keeping me alive

 

 

 

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