Poems (TW)

(Tw mentioned death)

Time.

Time is an illusion.

And yet it holds us in its grasp

Like chains or strings on a puppet.

Tick, tock, tick, tock

each movement of the clock drills through our head.

TIme is an illusion

But we need it,

But we run out of it,

and yet it is constantly there,

constantly changing,

counting us down

each tiny second marks

one second less

one second fewer

Another step

Towards the end.

Tick, tock, tick, tock