the clocks have
fallen backwards
little drunkards
on the mantle
yet the internal
dismay
sounds regularly
no matter the locality
the fool refuses
to acknowledge
time
as anything other
than a construct
invisible
chains of anxiety

until a scientist
figures out how
to traverse it
backwards
then it remains
meaningless

i count
the heartbeats
since
i have seen you
the delirium
in missing you
offset by the faint echo
pounding along
the edge of
mindschism

we make
our own prisons
construct
our own demise build clocks with shaking hands to count the seconds until death
so i have chosen
your lips
as the implement of
my ending
if i am
to be killed
let it be
in your arms

let it last
decades
in your sublimely
decadent
embrace