A clock

Ticking loud, the clock mocks the night,

its hands moving slow, dim light stealing flight.

At three in the morning, my thoughts start to race,

as seconds drip heavy, like tears on my face.

Dust gathers thick on the face, still and gray,

memories trap time in an unyielding sway.

Frozen in moments I can’t quite recall,

I’m left counting heartbeats, yet missing them all.