Time

Time is a funny thing

Only not in a humorous way.

Time slips by and drags on

But never changes its pace.

 

Hangs on my left wrist

So easy to throw, yet it controls me.

Lingering with every painful flick

Of a battery powered splinter.

 

Time rests on my bookshelf

Lurking in my restless nights.

Punctuates my pulse with uncertainty

In the soft silence of my pillow.

 

Strengthens the invisible bond

Between two sisters among many.

While stabbing at the emptiness

Caused by my own betrayal.

 

Time stares me in the face

From the mirror on the wall.

The minute hand spins slowly forward,

I must move on.

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