The Clock

I wrote this poem, and for some reason it makes me laugh. I don't usually write in rhyme scheme or write poetry about men wanting to die. The whole concept is just bizarre. Maybe it's the "woh, woh" ending, maybe it's because it reminds me of those chain e-mails from the nineties where if you didn't send it to 10 people something terrible would happen to you, and the poems were always corny and written by a middle schooler. Regardless, I kind of like this piece because I don't typically write like this or about this subject matter, and I think it's important for artists to step outside of what they normally create. So here it is...I'd say enjoy, but that's not really the point. This is about our survival instinct, about fighting to die, and then fighting to live. This is about feeling trapped between life and death - wanting both. Being stuck in daily purgatory. Oh jeez, I'm getting dark. Just read the poem. 

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Tick tock goes the clock

He wonders when this will stop

Bang bang goes the gun

Shoot it now, shoot it son

Bullet penetrates the skin

Piercing, pulsing, blood within

Red runs down his chest and cheek

He stumbles, he slows, he feels weak

Gravel and cement becomes his bed

But now he doesn’t want to end

Frantic, pacing, adrenaline

Grabbing onto life - must win

Someone help me! Someone, please!

Save me, love me, I’m on my knees

It’s too late, the clock’s run out

His cries are unnoticed, no one hears his shout

He is gone now, from this earth

He chose to leave, he had no worth