The hands of the clock
They wave as if they’ve
Always been hurt
I cast a dark look
At the cryptic baggage
That rests on its shadows
Lost, loved to lust
It’s a cycle, keep pedaling
Get out of my head
Heart too, gasp,
Pricks at my ribs
Leave me breathless
I’d rather freeze you
From my mind
And let you fall
Into these warm
And welcoming arms
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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