Poetry and Prose

The Ticks

Ticking and tocking, and
Ticking and tocking
This clock on the wall I’m watching

Watching and watching
The hands are not moving
The ticking, it’s making me crawl

Crawling and crawling
My skin feels appalling
I’m climbing up the walls

Climbing and climbing
Scratching and failing
Into puddles, I fall

Puddles and puddles
My body is muddled
The clock on the wall, it calls

Calling and calling
This clock that I’m watching
It has no movement at all

This ticking and ticking
Tocking and tocking
Monotonously screaming at me

Screaming and screaming
I want to be sleeping
But the clock continues to tock…

-D.A. Baker

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