Timewaster Poem by Far Lapenna

Softly ticking, an insistent thrill,
The wall, my phone, my head is still
A million questions asked
Why me?
Why not you?
The almost inaudible thumping
Of the metal hands
Glinting off my wrists
Cheekily.
And the ticking persists.
Burning a hole through concentration
Shattering it, rupturing it.
I can't stop listening,
Panicking not breathing.
Finished writing;
An end to the misery,
Yet...
Even though I know I should stop,
All I can hear is the ticking of the clock.