3. Broken Time

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about those times when the clock seems to have stopped.

Submitted: August 20, 2012

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Submitted: August 20, 2012



Time moves slowly, its creeping

I wish I hadn't woken, though I can't stand sleeping

With those dreams, beaming those fucked up scenes

Into my mind, like an endless stream.

What's messed up is when you know that you're dreaming

When she walks right past, but she doesn't see you

When you can't be heard, but you swear that you're screaming

You try to run but your legs are lead

You have that feeling that you're already dead

Or going to be soon, that dull, aching feeling of dread.

You choke up, or your teeth feel loose

You're naked or hurt, neck in a noose

Abashed, afraid, alone and ashamed

Heart racing and panicked, but feeling no pain.


So I'm at work and the clock has stopped

This day can't be topped

Should I follow work procedure,

See it and report it, just like the media?

Hold on, the clock's not broken, just moving so slow

Is this some kind of sickening joke?

Should I leave my station, go for a smoke?

Some punter makes a shitty retort

Shouts "Bitch, see you in court!"

I'm just working and this jerk is being a prick

I want to escape, work's a habit I'd kick

But I sit here and smile, let the world go by

This is fucked up though

I'm dying inside.

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