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The Clock
October 22, 2014
All day one thinks about the clock.
The clock that seems to never stop.
The clock containing their blood.
Until that fateful day.
The day their life ends in shame.
They get to their house, they sit down. They take out a knife, they go to town.
Their wrists are red. Their arms are, too. Their eyes roll back, their lips turn blue.
The clock watches with a smile; just another body to add to the pile.
The clock slowly ticked.
It twitched, it tocked, and it ticked.
Until it finally came to a stop.
The clock.
© Molly L., Bethesda, MD
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This article has 1 comment.
passion_poet19 GOLD said...
on May. 4 2015 at 9:34 am
i really really love this and i can relate it brought tears to my eyes
This poem is semi depressing but it came from the heart.