Ticking clock

Short Story by: Skimpydress34

Summary

Hampering on the floor, couldn't see my hands pass by me at the beginning of the race, couldn't look any more, my hands had hit the floor. Swim, Swim, take a swing, take a shot, be your own embrace. Cut.

Content

Submitted: May 23, 2013

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: May 23, 2013

A A A

A A A


Ticking Clock

 

Counting the minutes by hand each one like an hour of sand deposited on to the lengthy shores of my imagination. It was imaginary, in every single inkling, but I didn’t want it to be. Me as a constant reminder of just what I had become, seconds past; when will it be my time? I’ve fought this battle for one hundred long years, I think I am starting to grow a beard. We stood alone at the corners of the room and didn’t touch each other only the walls that separated us, and we felt warm there, only touch… Calamity for your soul aching in the bitterness of age. Liking to the wind of a emptied rage, can you feel my anger towards the heat, like puddles they vibrate at my feet, reaching up in to my fists, breaking now, I’ve reached the fifth. Taken always at the last moment, stirred up like a kettle fish, mingled with an asteroid reaching earth on November 6th. Hell of past times, clambered fists, aching windows smashing crisp. Smell the fire that burns always, enduring heartache of the soul; nevertheless you aren’t always the one who is at fault. Can’t you see that my injuries are false. Injuries don’t talk of sadness, make me lock the bolts. Treason has injured the centre of the sin, purging lifeness in  to the bin. Courage lacking without fire to enter within, circling up and down this awesome wind. Take me now, at this moment and we will win a lifetime of “can’t tell you’s” and extra sin. Take me, oh… felt something only like rage in the bitter wind. Cradling anguish and easter baskets for my chocolate eggs, hoping that a red hot pistol could shame my hand. Laughing under uttering ends, passion crippled for summer’s end. Living on this broken shore, cracks revealed on this broken board. Powerless to open wide, all the things I hold inside. Tapping away with a stick, makes me wonder, makes me sick. Stupid facades that sell me lies, captured in a swimming tank. Help me now or help me not, as my own brain thickens the plot. Captain sails on the shore; looking for loot, looking for more. Sarah is a wicked fiend, smashing entrances of the scene. Coldness at the little place of silent speak and sudden race. Grasping to a shortened rope, fears of patchwork, fears of smoke. Like my face will turn to dust, my own mistreatment and distrust. Send me now over the hill so I can take my daily pill. Clouds are forming in the sky, way up windward, in the sky. Imagine all the pretty birds only they know how to fly, imagine all of them spreading their wings, as they touch the sky. Reaching out onto them now, my mind feels like it’s Spring. Hold me close at this hour of itching and despair. Parachutes envelope the sky, interior seems like gold, never liked looking down at things, when I realize “I’m too old” Eagle kites spin westward on the string begins to break, never before had I seen such an interesting lake. Hands are cold, inching closer to the edge. Make your mind up now before you miss the thread. Careless thoughts of my own insecurity’s that make me feel so sure, never trust an eagle once it begins to soar. Caught up in the curving wind, on fields we’ve been before, not too long ago, now I’m standing on the shore; distance same as before. Perilous insight of singing choirs singing songs, sing-a-longs, carried voices, carrying along. Hear me now before I speak and I want to hear your answer, in speaking to you, my hearts a lantern. Never would I have spoke before, in fear that I might cry. Help you down upon from here in the dead of night. Caring for you night and day, never leave your side; I’ll sit right down next to you and wait for you to cry. I hope that you sit next to me or that you are somewhere else nearby, I hope that it wont be theatre for you when I have to lie. Questioning your faith to me and I will be a sword for you in times that you don’t belong. Fight me to the death for me in the hours of the serpent’s song.


© Copyright 2016 Skimpydress34. All rights reserved.

Ticking clock Ticking clock

Status: Finished

Genre: Other

Houses:

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Other

Houses:

Summary

Hampering on the floor, couldn't see my hands pass by me at the beginning of the race, couldn't look any more, my hands had hit the floor. Swim, Swim, take a swing, take a shot, be your own embrace. Cut.

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