00:00:01

I think my stopwatch is broken,
stuck permanently on 00:00:01,
I crane my ear to your chest,
the ticking reverberates back,
I’m not deaf, no it can’t be that,
I think my stopwatch is broken.

I think the gears twisted loose,
maybe I shook it too hard in youth,
maybe I dropped it too many times
down the well of countered abuse,
perhaps it broke with the noose.

Death is an old friend of mine,
she’s a glamorous and idle sleuth,
she stained my sleeves deep blue,
knocked the wind from my lungs,
and said, ‘now you’re cursed, too.’

Now living is all there’s left to do.

– B.

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