So many times its me killing me.
The days running backwards in error.
Like my lifes clock is broken.
A counter clockwise reflection.
All is either too fast or too slow.
Never a happy medium in time.
And when the two hands strike twelve.
It all starts over again.
Whether its backwards or forwards.
Its still me killing me.
© 2007 OttOEviL
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/15404/99950 on Monday October 06th, 2008 01:27 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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