The clock stares at me staring at the words.
There's a swelling in my heart.
Apparently, it tells me what I see is
Easy to take. "Take it easy,"
It says, with the conducive thumping of a hammer
Whose head is scourged with a rotting rust.
The nails are driven into paper
With torturous leisure. My heart brims with
The blood of the futility of thought.
The screaming flakes of rust make brown the desk
Like coagulated blood. "Bear with the sight,
You'll find something to write." I flinch at the incantation
And look again at the paperthin lady
Pregnant with death; the stench of
Putrefying blood strangles the pit of my palm.
It loses grip. It succumbs to pungent grip.
It suffocates my throat. "Have a sip of water."
The blood liquefies and flows,
Annexing the concrete ground underneath
Infiltrating the pores of
My sweat sickened flesh trembling with every blink
Of her fixed gaze.
The bones of my arms arch in paralysis; I see that
She has more than two bloodshot eyes.
There is a swelling in my heart, the cancerous growth of failure.
"Pens down."
~tc
