When The Clock Strikes

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It seems like every time I'm finally ok, you show up again. But before you do, I always know; I get an inkling.

Like clockwork, like the past didn't happen.

You can't control me, and you don't like that.

You envy those around me.

It seems like you enjoy the game. You like the way you can manipulate my emotions, without any regard for your own selfishness.

Like clockwork, you remind me of the maze I'm already lost in. Using my love against me because you know how much it'll hurt, I'm your easiest target.

Being a reflection of you I worry.

Like clockwork, I sigh and say "okay".

With no energy left to fight, I give in. With no energy left to fight, I let you back in.

Keeping a distance between us, you continue to take a mile for each inch I lend you.

It's never enough, not for you.

It's sad to think, fixing a bond we once shared is simply a fantasy.

As far apart as we are, you refuse to let me be.

You refuse to allow me my peace.

There's only one of you but I didn't deserve the version of you that you gave me.

So each time the clock strikes twelve, my pumpkin dissipates and my gown turns back into rags.

No gun is involved yet the trigger is pulled. The memories flood, the dam breaks, my heart falls.

Like clockwork, I've been pushed back five steps.

The glass breaks all over again and I'm left to pick up the pieces.

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