Cant sleep wrote a poem.

Over the ringing in my ears I hear the gears grind in this cheap red clock. Ticking away the night and every second of rest and peace my mind craves. Ticking through my thoughts of things never said and should have and things said that shouldn’t have been. The heavy weight of darknes and time and the unknown tomorrow all being spoken by a thing framed in thin red plastic. It stirs feelings and thoughts from a black swamp better left still and forgotten. Regrets with friends and lovers and opportunities all ticking away in a tick tick tick like an evil spell. This cheap red clock on a sheet rock wall covered in mismatched paint. Made by a stranger or assembled by automation in a far away land. Manufactured somehow in negativity and holding it all the way to this night. To tick away a guys sleepless anxious night as his ears ring and his mind goes through the dark stories of his life. Grinding and ticking and tocking without malice but billgerent all the same. This damned cheap red clock.


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