the clock in the clock tower is ten minutes slow or maybe i jumped backwards against the flow of the arduous river that seeks to break me down

i cannot recall the last fifteen minutes but i am aware i have lived them as nauseum no matter what that tower tries to tell me as it stares down

ten minutes stretched out like dominos across the rain soaked streets of little town rural texas that slowly revert to upright as i scream silently

that lying bastard clockface trying to take what i rightfully earned as the seconds tick back and the world shifts into a blur of abominable colors

ten minutes six hundred seconds as the brass gears slowly slip the chimes sound again and again in the heavy air of nonsensical remembrance at whim

the people jerk and twitch as they retrace the steps they are doomed to repeat a bird floats with terror in it’s small black eyes as the window comes to focus

the clock in the clock tower moves in whatever fashion it chooses to regardless if the temporal havoc it causes on the world in general

the curse of awareness assaults my slowly fracturing mindstate as i circle the block in reverse my eyes locked on the minute hand as it falls to the street

irrevocably broken and adrift in the moments between seconds while screaming for release as the people in town dance in this macabre loop