I’m not all there.

My heart is not whole.

My mind isn’t focused.

Am I even awake?

The second hand doesn’t jar me,

the clock does nothing to bolster me,

it does not reach with its brass hands

to pull me from my bed, or shake me

from my dull daydreams.

With a lightbulb burning like a confined sun,

not even blue cloak of noon or black sheath of night

can rouse me from this blank state.

I have to take initiative

and realize, that I could wallow

in this murk,

but that would not stop my life diminishing

with each twitch of the thin second-hand.

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