Spinning clockwise, out of control
The clock screams at me to stop it
I take it's advice and try as I could
Making sure the time would halt
A bell takes its final toll
A pilot stops in a cockpit
Hands stop moving and sound is dulled
Knowing it is all my fault
YOU ARE READING
Poem Book
PoetryA literary tête-à-tête to help myself get by. You will find both poem and prose in this public diary of thought and representation, but a cliché name never hurts anyone.
