Ticking clocks mock me with each passing sound

Ticking clocks mock me, with each passing sound,

a heartbeat of moments that circle around.

My old watch lies cracked, a thief of the day,

yet time keeps on moving, a dance on display.

Seconds slip through me like sand in a glass,

each tick a reminder of time's brutal pass.

It laughs at my worries, a jest of the meek,

while I stand in its shadow, too fragile to speak.

Anxiety swells like a tide in my chest,

a clockwork of doubt that won't let me rest.

I wonder what future these moments conceal,

when time’s fickle laughter has nothing to heal.