A Poem Written To The Ticking Of The Clock

I am a dark cloud disguised as sunshine.
I am an opaque lie.
Yet, light rays illuminate through me.

I am constantly missing; constantly overwhelmed by a sense of missing.
Yet always present.
I am no gift. If anything I am a curse.

I shall dress in white satin and dance to the melody of the ticking clock.
I shall dance till the hot wooden floor feels like block ice.
I shall burn the house down with my footsteps; burn it slowly with my gentle angry footsteps.

I will run.
I will run so far, land shall crack to sand and sand shall become sea.
I will shed tears, tastier than the banks we call water bodies and more deadly than the waves that swallow.

I won’t lay on marbles and think of soft cushions.
I won’t skip on stormy beaches and believe in calm seas.
I won’t seek and dream of being hidden.
I won’t dive and believe I shall be saved.

Dreamers often lie but the ink on this paper is dry and the words tattooed on it shall seal the truth.


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