That twisted clock

is still puddled at my feet,

reaching its grasping hands out to me.

Ticking like a chuckling bomb,

laughter all over its greasy face.

It’s always against me.

chasing me with

clanging peals of

malevolent memory.

Faster, quicker, RUN.

Can’t beat it,

can’t cheat it.

No quickstep on Earth

can outsmart the sickening,

echoing call of time.