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The tick ticking of the clock

Was a flick in my ear,

A scrimmage of sorts

Or a remembrance of idle

Days, hours, minutes,

Seconds

Gone,

Wasted on fumbled aggressions,

Wasted on putrid

Narcissism of youth

My youth

Whose tongue was tussled

Upon movement and

Frayed by ignoring the tick ticking.

 

In comparison to the bestiality

Of lost time

And of seconds

Where I should have been

Focused on the tick ticking

In remembrance of

the fragility and of the brittleness

of a wasted clock  

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