Gerard Taylor

Rookie (16/2/1967 / Birkenhead)

The ticking of the clock


2.oclock in the afternoon the day for her had come to soon
As I anticipated that time coming around again,
For her to reach into the medication pot, like nothing else mattered.
A analyst in her own right, studying the chemical substances she
Grasped in her anxious hand.
The only times her head came out of the sand.
It was hard to bare, as I spoke I care, and she would stir in a gaze
Stuck in a world like haze.
In her reflection as I passed, looking into the glass
Watching the maturity softly brushing lengths of hair, now masking her insecurity not a care, Lingering until she awaits the effects of pills
But still a broken will, talk is cheap she spoke as she weeped.
The ticking of the clock
She clense`s her body thickens her skin but not yet ready to be clensed within, as her brightened eyes start to demise.
I wonder were she is right now, still I try not to lose that somehow.
The sleep comes to her, and her mind and body is still, silence only disturbed by the ticking of the clock.

Submitted: Friday, September 17, 2010
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